SWALLOWTAILS
Yellow against green
catches my eye
as the tiger swallowtail
walks from under its leaf
to wait for the sun
or buddlea’s nectar to rise.
Its flight seems aimless,
vulnerable to the wind,
before landing on purple
coneflower. I rarely see it fight
to protect its petalled stalk.
Not like the ruby throat
that takes on a sphinx moth
daring to visit a bee balm blossom.
Spicebush and pipevine visit on occasion.
Zebras float past but never land.
Summer lingers, tails get ragged,
blue spots less brilliant.
I dead head the bush
all season to keep the colors coming.
One night, the frost is heavy,
leaves curl up,
but I never see a butterfly
with wings rimed with ice.
The Hudson View
