The world around me is wildflower teeming,
small yellow, round orange petal, the lavender
and the sun coming from earth,
even the webs of finery shining in light
and it takes just a sheer brief atmosphere
flying inches above this beloved earth
with the many thousand wings, all colors,
truly the Cíbola other men saw.
The entire sky moved in those days,
shining like valuable elements with mineral longing.
Once these were chrysalis, worm, the many-legged,
each holding their part of the god
of butterflies, chrysalis opened at the back.
Without teeth some ate their way through the silken shroud of life
or made long other journeys
to fly above this illumined world.
Even if I could live that way one day,
if only, in the illuminated world of another code,
step out of my body of silk flesh
open out of the pain clothing
where I live so mortally beautiful, a soul of light,
even then I would never be so rich, so perfect
as the winged lives moving
flower to flower,
pollen to pollen,
immortal to the spirit of mortal memory
that can’t relinquish its hold
on this life stem.