Anchored to a spent daisy
in the forge of continuous summer,
an orange & black speckled butterfly
had spun her silk pad,
had shed caterpillar skin,
had burst capsuled chrysalis,
and I named her Whitman & water & wind.
Her forelegs, vestigial,
held close to her body,
and I named her fish & sparrow,
and when she lifted
with a sound of light rain,
she flew beyond milkweed stalks,
above a caution sign
and grooved pavement,
unbent, unbridled,
and I named her otter & fire.
And when she rose
among asters & comets
luminous,
when she stroked through cloudless blue
unclosed, unbidden,
I named her unmechanical.
Now I call her mist & dawn.

I looked, knowing her gone,
a pool of blue shade in her place.