Moving, Moving, Still
The pilgrims on their way to Lourdes are just
Like entomologists that chase fey things,
Except the nets do capture perfect dust
In patterned beauty on the wanton wings
Symmetrical in color and in shape,
Those doomed realities. The nets are real.
The doom is real. The butterflies escape
Or not, but they are real. The pilgrims feel
But that is all. Irregular the flight
The nets attempt to stop but maybe in
Its flitting ways it preaches more of light
Than pilgrims know. The final piercing pin
At least is real for all its ugly pain.
Ignoring truth the pilgrims strain and strain.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Oct 1, 2021 | CH, MI, RE, RO |