a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society
Anchored to a spent daisy
in the forge of continuous summer,
an orange & black speckled butterfly
had spun her silk pad,
had shed caterpillar skin,
had burst capsuled chrysalis,
and I named her Whitman & water & wind.
Her forelegs, vestigial,
held close to her body,
and I named her fish & sparrow,
and when she lifted
with a sound of light rain,
she flew beyond milkweed stalks,
above a caution sign
and grooved pavement,
and I named her otter & fire.
And when she rose
among asters & comets
when she stroked through cloudless blue
I named her unmechanical.
Now I call her mist & dawn.
a pool of blue shade in her place.