Something Is Slowly Transmuted

Anonymously the eye’s ride

beyond the window’s ledge…

…to the flight of butterflies,

so beautifully reconciled,

adrift in the presence of light.

…to  the position of this man –

his back to all, facing something

irrevocable and unyielding.

…to the season’s fresh air

wedded to the weightlessness

of the butterfly gainfully employed.

. . . . .

The mind sallies along caught in a dream-like flutter
midst the capaciousness of the wild azure sky.

Swiftly the imagination starts to flit at a tremendous pace,

enthralled like the butterfly frolicking in the gallery of the garden,

where ever-so-delicately its carnivalesque spirit blithely drifts.

. . . . .

Intermittently the poem breaks ground in the unexpected light,

as words are summoned to locate its beginning.