Poet as Lepidopterist
                                                                                         “butterfly’d to a pin, frozen in final motion”
                                                                                                    Lady Genevieve © 1971 John Phillips

In checkerspot dreams
spontaneous pupae awake me
pearlescent eyelids heavy-fluttering
in perfect rem reverie;
eats its way purposefully,
relentlessly
into my consciousness.
In caterpillar darkness
the ravenous larvae grow
word by chosen word,
a full day’s labor before sentences emerge.

Coccoon’d wings drying in the light of the writer’s smile,
fledgling poems struggle to exist in diminishing habitat..

Thirst for sustenance,
               quest for nectar,
                               the taking to air..

The freedom of flight is short-lived;
necessarily the poem must be anaesthetized,
euthanized while its colors are brightest,
wings spread fully in mid-faux flight
that it might be displayed for others’
curious & admiring eyes.

Year of early frost,
               housing market on the rebound,
                               yet another endangered species..

Our poems require no less than other living things:
wide-open range,
federal funding,
heightened public awareness..

This is a time of passage,
of wings & distance..
this is the migration.