The butterfly,
the she who finds and flees
me.
Delicate determination of disjointed direction
flows so
unsteadily, so
constantly.
Whatever wind, velocity varies, compass careens. She shelters
only from storm, rests for rain’s reign.
It dies and frantic she flies
elusive on iridescent wings
flashing bruised indigo
into blinding blue,
shaped only by her careless caress of sun.
Movement calls attention, melts to beauty, disappears,
reappears, disappears.
Never captured, but imperceptibly drawn.
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