The Butterflies Rather Than The Bees
Hibernation or migration: Dilemma.
The Monarchs on a hill called Prospect
feel the sun dip down over Eden—
Migrant clouds go hand-in-hand with clearing.
The Gihon’s running light as little kings
ride the rockwarm thermals in full force.
Broken mosaics, miniature orioles,
they ornament the air with their slight hearts,
willing Virgils for the wingèd Dantes.
All this exquisite clockwork and compass-buzz;
Quo’s bee-quick in his reverence of the honeyed.
Big questions. Little wings.
Once he held a few birds in his hand, but never these.