Our Lady Mariposa

Have you ever walked into air
bubbling like champagne, shimmering
and pale gold? Flower petals fall
everywhere (such a mess) scattered,
a susurration for the eyes
(blue arcs and curves, gold hooks, the pinks
flush / tremble / then fade). Little wings,
little frocks, whispers, and she laughs,
believing in a chrysalis,
a line that blurs between shadow
and shade, a spring that runs uphill,
music sounding beyond the edge
of hearing, light that flies away
twisting into darkness, and then
unknots in a burst of spirit.
Tickle or burn, I wonder, shushed,
because she’s already saying,
“See you soon! After all, who knows
what soon is? Maybe anything.”

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2 responses to “Our Lady Mariposa

  1. I know it is not the same – but I read miraposa and think miamosa. Champagne is such a delightful and refreshing drink – morning air can be the same (but it fades all too soon as the sun heats up the day)

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