Conversant in Thistle and Butterfly

I am perched on a boulder

hidden in the shadowed corner

of the garden

behind the nodding thistle

perspicacious heads of lavender

spy nonchalant while I

whisper to the yellow jacket

of my hopes and aspirations.

reticent in rectitude

I whistle

ruby hummingbirded

wings, bejeweled

of agile green escapes

while my cheeks

shift from aching to numb

on the roughening façade


I flew here to lament

my autumnal crackling

tears quiver, unfallen

past the tickle

of thistledown coating

the chill of my belabored bewailing.

sun cajoles prickly remorse

from the thistle

it drips sticky stamen residue

at the scars it gifted

in my passing.

a fritillary alights and wistfully peruses

the honeyed depths of contemplation

nectar beads, seeding

the coveted urn of renewal


I am at home here

secluded among the desiccated foliage

it was well tended until season’s end

now it is covered in harvest residuals

scarlet and umber detritus

girding itself to winter over

tears threaten the dam

swelling against patches in my heart

the yellow jacket’s docile sunning

belies the fury of his reputation

as I, akin, do mine.

I have stung betimes

solely under the looming adumbration

of imminent mortal swatting.

my shins glisten

with lazy droplets of blood

imprint of thorns’ bequest of sheltering

to label them scratches


the bounds of damage

as we humans are wont to do

the thistle meant me no harm

as she bowed

under the weight of the reckless wind

grazing my fragile skin.


the fritillary opens and folds

wings of spangled spun gold

the steady metronomic beat,

a saffron rhythmic hypnosis

unravels universal mysteries.

wing beats fan the furling fronds

fashioning a fictional furrow

where I can bury angst

overlay with crunchy amber dust

canonizing my misery.

littering the air

atomized must


stokes rueful rumination.

decrescent rays caress

my rumpled brow

reflect obsidian obeisance

hang on horizon’s whims,

diffuse coral

clots of anoxic penitence

as the fritillary glides afield.

I surrender to the gloaming

tippling crimson cumulus

as the yellow jackets

buzz in approbation









15 thoughts on “Conversant in Thistle and Butterfly

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