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.