Chalk Hill Blue and Duke of Burgundy
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Eyes need to let the butterflies go in
And settle where they will inside the chest
Or brain, in memory, or spread wings within
The cage of ribs—wherever wings think best.
Inside the heart they might feel too much strain
Since atriums of flesh pump hard, too much,
And ventricles might squeeze faint wings and pain
Them with emotion. If guest wings should touch
Surrealist positions in the mind,
The butterflies might cringe away, might lurch
From endless mirrors as a hope made blind
By demons, giving up their fluttering search.
If wings alight somewhere inside your veins,
Don’t let them suffer from love’s trapping stains.
~ Phillip Whidden