November 13, 2013 by Mark Tweedie

Departure

Departure

Those lips’ butterfly pause
briefly on the skin then flower, drink
until the ceaseless breeze
lifts the fragment.

Complex veins pulse
against the light.
Contre-jour is difficult,
still, beauty shines
stronger against the rules.

Cool gusts blow,
show direction,
pull the wings
spreading before
the sun which dries
the drop so recent
and so moist,
steady for departure.

The future is a feint
brittle parchment
of once-lined maps
dried in memory of land
by ocean travellers
in chrysalis
hoping full circle
can be true.