Two Tortoiseshell Butterflies

Mid-May – after May frosts that killed the Camellias,

After May snow. After a winter

Worst in human memory, a freeze

Killing the hundred-year-old Bay Tree,

And the ten-year-old Bay Tree – suddenly

A warm limpness. A blue heaven just veiled

With the sweatings of earth

And with the sweatings-out of winter

Feverish under the piled

Maywear of the lawn.

                                      Now two

Tortoiseshell butterflies, finding themselves alive,

She drunk with the earth-sweat, and he

Drunk with her, float in eddies

Over the Daisies’ quilt. She prefers Dandelions,

Settling to nod her long spring tongue down

Into the nestling pleats, into the flower’s

Thick-folded throat, her wings high-folded.

He settling behind her, among plain glistenings

Of the new grass, edging and twitching

To nearly touch – pulsing and convulsing

Wings wide open to tight-closed to flat open

Quivering to keep her so near, almost reaching

To stroke her abdomen with his antennae –

Then she’s up and away, and he startlingly

Swallowlike overtaking, crowding her, heading her

Off any escape. She turns that

To her purpose, and veers down

Onto another Dandelion, attaching

Her weightless yacht to its crest.

Wobbles to stronger hold, to deeper, sweeter

Penetration, her wings tight shut above her,

A sealed book, absorbed in itself.

She ignores him

Where he edges to left and to right, flitting

His wings open, titillating her fur

With his perfumed draughts, spasming his patterns,

His tropical, pheasant appeals of folk-art,

Venturing closer, grass-blade by grass-blade,

Trembling with inhibition, nearly touching –

And again she’s away, dithering blackly. He swoops

On an elastic to settle accurately

Under her tail again as she clamps to

This time a Daisy. She’s been chosen,

Courtship has claimed her. And he’s been conscripted

To what’s required

Of the splitting bud, of the talented robin

That performs piercings

Out of the still-bare ash,

The whole air just like him, just breathing

Over the still-turned-inward earth, the first

Caresses of the wedding coming, the earth

Opening its petals, the whole sky

Opening a flower

Of unfathomably-patterned pollen.