It alights on the most unlikely places
when it is ready to unload its augury:
a herald that answers to no postmaster.
Did it touch your face before perching
on your head preening like a silken bow?
Fear not, but beware its noblesse oblige:
Whom the gods want to destroy, they
first caress, a beau geste for its fondest,
most innocent, most willing sacrifice.
Like the heart that knows no rest,
the mourning papillon flits from leaf
to welcoming petals ready with nectar.
Though it comes bearing sweetness
for its bounden message, it drops its
wings to let the doleful colour show
and flies out of reach and rancour, out
now into the cusp of wind and fire, out
of grace, out into the world of Tiresias
blinded but must prophesy what passes
from this life, all loves and lovers, gone
but never let loose, ever, not now, not yet.
For any day now, the heart that bent
to the swallowtail’s random dance,
would find its elusive life full of radiance.
---Albert B. Casuga
Poetic Prompts: I hold my hand over my heart/ because I know it knows no rest:/ it does not want to mourn what/ passes from this life, just yet.---From “Trauermantel” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 05-28-11. Any day now a god /might unfurl its wings to rend the canopy;/any day now, that radiant and elusive life.---From “Foretelling” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 05-29-11 http://www.vianegativa.us/2011/05/foretelling/