Spirit of the Air
Black, bejewelled insect beauty,
I do not know your name.
A swallowtail form
Orbiting in lilting flight
About the bushes in my yard.
I’ve seen these creatures many times,
With their iridescent blue markings,
Like a piece of fluttering night,
Only deepened by the burning sun.
I know of almost nothing which
Inspires me with such
Transcendent fascination
As a serendipitous sighting
Of such a winged, Plutonian sylph.
Such splendor seems to flow
From other worlds than ours,
Yet you drink the nectar
Of earthly blossoms.
What mad designs of evolution
Condensed into this body
Animated with serenity?
No aerial illusion this
Precipitate hallucination,
Fly, Black Butterfly, Fly!
