Butterflies

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Butterflies

“Poetry gives permanence to the temporal forms of the self.”
Miguel de Unamuno.

That is what my writing is all about,
those temporal forms, fluttering and changing.
Butterflies, they live for a day or two,
perch and flourish, spread their wings,
excel for a moment, catch my attention,
then blown by a sudden gust of wind,
they tear their wings on a thorn
and perish in the blink of an eye.

Reborn in ditches, they cluster and gather,
congregate, black and yellow, on bees’ balm,
smother Cape Daisies and Black-eyed Susans.

Like shadows they shimmer, butterflies by day,
fireflies by night, terrestrial stars, lost, wandering,
floating in their forest firmament, hackmatack,
black oak, bird’s eye maple, silver birch, fir …

Impermanence surrounds us, dances beneath stars,
sings with robins, echoes the owl’s cry through woodlands,
poetry, the elemental soul, our words capturing nothing,
turning it into eternity, holding it for the briefest moment,
then letting it go. Island View, New Brunswick, Canada,
my home in the woods, my dialog with my place and time.

12 thoughts on “Butterflies

  1. I agree! This is a perfect and beautiful description of writing (especially poetry). The capturing of a thought or a fleeting moment and putting in words, which to the reader, each interprets in their own personal way. It’s really quite magnificent, isn’t it?

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Roger: This is brilliant: “our words capturing nothing, turning it into eternity” Thank you. -j

    Sent from Mail for Windows 10

    ________________________________

    Liked by 1 person

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