Detaching wings from monarchs is simple
as breaking a heart. Like plucking fireglow
from a charred stem. No longer examples
of freedom’s flight, will their compound eyes show
them how to relive as caterpillars?
Or is their journey a dying crawl: Lost
in failure’s foliage, like humans are
after torn romance reveals its dire cost?
Often, it seems, not forsaking cocoons
offers advantages. Still, it’s boring
at times to live alone. And we learn soon
how not spreading wings keeps us from soaring.
Yes, flight might lead to sudden dissection.
But that’s why we pray for resurrection.
Roger Armbrust
August 6, 2011
