Bougainville hues in choppy flight
across the yawning expanse
of the patient heavens.
Silly crayon patterns strewn aboard
silky wings too delicate for living
in an impatient world.
Rocking on a hinged self, on flowers
laughing in the sun, it uncertainly
seeks life-giving nectar.
A few weeks of life and then it is done,
its gossamer wings must pay
the price of its fragile form.
Ephemera for angels through
idle afternoons in Eden, a
toy too perfect for play.
The butterfly: an aberration of nature
whose very perfection is
the imperfect texture of God’s day!