Saturday, August 15, 2009


A monarch
so orange the color is sacred.
Burnt orange bellows, black panes.
Fractals of breath that are wings.
I try to breathe like that.
But mine is hidden, unconscious.
The monarch's, exposed, precious.
Orange. The monarch wearing its breath.



Crafty Green Poet said...

this is lovely, it seems to capture the monarch really well,

ron hardy said...

Thanks for your kind comment, Juliet. Many years ago my former wife and I backpacked through the U.K. and Europe. Took a night train from London to Edinburgh. When the sun came up we looked out upon a loch and the long beautiful green hills. Edinburgh remains one of my favorite places. We traveled all the way to the small village of Findhorn.