monarch
Posted: April 15th, 2008, 11:18 pm
(2004)
I find myself wrapped in the circumference
of a lullaby rainfall, taller than a sequoia –
I call out a black crowsong caw to elements.
Love is a time king.
Nature rhymes me.
I am the sea, unruly, the metaphysical earth question,
the resurrection of an interjection of mud and silt.
My leaves and comes wilt off of hope stems.
I bend by a truth breeze, ease myself into
replanting, re-emerge barefoot, stark, standing
solid on the current of earthquake grace.
I chase the perplexities of reason,
newborn calves, my release of wonder, thunder,
the tease of a matinee moonsky.
Why do I bother studying butterflies?
It is in the expanse of wings where
futility ceases to sing when
Autumn brings their demise.
I take the size of winter, splinter it into my palm,
dig it out from snow piled atop my ardor.
I welcome the sting of spring's bees,
poisoned by the reckoning of a season's
resilience.
Summer must come.
The cycles interrogate me.
I plead with garden remedies.
I plead with garden remedies.
It is in the course of following
the outcome of a dawn
where I succeed in
putting daylight on
like a gown.
I will only be renowned
once I am owned by the capture
of a moment on a page, wings wide –
pierced with a pin.
The monarch wins his place
on a surface.
I find myself wrapped in the circumference
of a lullaby rainfall, taller than a sequoia –
I call out a black crowsong caw to elements.
Love is a time king.
Nature rhymes me.
I am the sea, unruly, the metaphysical earth question,
the resurrection of an interjection of mud and silt.
My leaves and comes wilt off of hope stems.
I bend by a truth breeze, ease myself into
replanting, re-emerge barefoot, stark, standing
solid on the current of earthquake grace.
I chase the perplexities of reason,
newborn calves, my release of wonder, thunder,
the tease of a matinee moonsky.
Why do I bother studying butterflies?
It is in the expanse of wings where
futility ceases to sing when
Autumn brings their demise.
I take the size of winter, splinter it into my palm,
dig it out from snow piled atop my ardor.
I welcome the sting of spring's bees,
poisoned by the reckoning of a season's
resilience.
Summer must come.
The cycles interrogate me.
I plead with garden remedies.
I plead with garden remedies.
It is in the course of following
the outcome of a dawn
where I succeed in
putting daylight on
like a gown.
I will only be renowned
once I am owned by the capture
of a moment on a page, wings wide –
pierced with a pin.
The monarch wins his place
on a surface.
