QUESTION MARK
At the gravel pit pond last year, trees stood tall.
Maple crimson and gold, redbud yellow reflected
from green water to autumn blue sky. Song sparrows
slept in the cedar. Wood ducks swam in the swamp,
sliders basked on the logs.
This fall, someone must have played with a bulldozer.
Gnarled cedar roots reach towards the sky, the maples’
trunks lie half split along the banks, the swamp empty.
In the cool morning, it suns on a cut trunk,
burnt orange wings with silvered edges,
matching black spots on each wing.
Warmed, the butterfly closes its wings,
in the center a tiny metallic question mark.
Earthspeak Mar 2012
