moth wing

I am as the dust on moth wing,
releasing
upon a moments outburst
my muted pigmentations.
Blue of swift faith,
orange-brown penetrations of desire,
abiding season of green,

powders

of cyclic metamorphosis
in tawny and ivory tones,
shed from membranes in frantic flight.

I flutter,
my resting-place tenuous
on life's capricious threads
spun in temporal looms,
but weighted by thickness of body
I remain
never barren.

Never remiss of direction

I absolve
all remorse
sip the nectar
of immutable destiny,
approaching from within the obscurity
to fly into the light,

dream iridescence
as this dust scatters from my moth feather,
its minuscule mark
settling on landscapes tomorrow foreseen.

jeanne rene 5/05