Poem

MORPHO

The butterfly flitters past in the dappled forest light, blue wings in flight

Irridescent, glowing, going on its journey through life.

I run, I follow, through glades of singing green and sandy tracks, and scrubby tracts of land.

It shows me white stuccoed villages, long, sun-drenched vineyards, distant blue mountains, fountains in ancient squares.

I run, I follow, intent on the chase

At last I catch it in my net and hold it, fold it in my hand lest it escape.

I feel its fluttering life force trembling, morse code of panic sending vibrations through my fingers

I linger to admire its perfection, each wing scale a perfect mirror of the world, radiant blues and greens like peacock feathers.

I could gather it, snuff out its life, pin it to my board and bring it home.

Alone, it would hang, sharp mockery of its life, scales fading in the cold English sun, an empty husk, no longer an 'unformed being' as in Paraguayan folklore.

Before I can form reason, I open my hand and let it go.

It glows, flies, flickers and shimmers through the dimness of the forest, where at last, it turns, changes and morphs into a red-haired girl who lifts a hand in acknowledgment of my love before disappearing.

No unformed being now, but a free spirit.