Swallowtail Visits Violet
by Russell Rowland

Commerce of ephemerals. Petals
easily support like weightlessness.
Touch subsists in its moment—as
manna in wilderness. No covenants
upon granite. A brief zephyr kiss.

Black-barred yellow wings fan gently:
lover’s languor. Consent is neither
given nor withheld—as it used to be
with us, when we were primeval, and
did not even know we were naked.

Sip. This is my nectar, secreted
for you. Today is all. Because
there is no memory, there can be
no yesterday. Because there are no
cares, there need be no tomorrow.

Fly. Clear the treetops. Weave
a flight-path through white pine,
red oak. God said to pollinate,
multiply. Let it be to us, His
servants, according to His word.

These part, to be forgot, forget;
never in this world to meet again.
But there will be another butterfly,
visiting another violet. Eternity?
One small blossom to balance on.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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