Smooth wings of iridescent royal blue,
your dresser must also serve fluttering
Morpho butterflies. Shocking the way you
alter sound, range from early utterings
of humans to blatant car alarms. I’ve
heard in glowing morning echoes of your
mating call, your boast flexing how you thrive
on sex, admire your love’s turquoise eggs, lure
of a virgin’s eye. Gregarious as
politicians, invasive as taxers:
some stamp your brood a nefarious class.
Yet my love and I, poetic waxers,
rave how your name’s first syllable infers
Nyx created you to soar among stars.
Roger Armbrust
July 2, 2010
