This bush is alive.

This bush is alive
with orange fans waving
like over-heated antebellum charmers
flashing smiles
between wing beats
that send me
into a cacoon
dreaming of flowering
sweet tea fountains
sticky and gooey with life.
This bush is alive;
reaching out its
floral fingers
into the air
so they can drink
of butterfly feet
while offering up
their pollen
into the perfect
messiness of life:
petals curling inward
a pregnant bulb swells
cradling seeds in its belly.
This bush is alive.

November 2009

*This poem was inspired by the lovely monarchs, the champions of butterfly migration. They gather in the Big Sur area (where I was from Sept-Nov of 2009) starting in October and migrate north in January. It is a spectacle to see them flying everywhere and clustered so close together on Eucalyptus trees.

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