butterflies flutter
from the artist’s brush
in memoriam—
a river of monarchs
once flowed across the sky
slow spirals
up the summer sky—
scavengers
cleansing my mind
of its dark residue
I follow a path
of spindrift oak leaves
to a clearing
where no cabin ever stood—
its hidden hearth my home
the day
closes its circle
around me
silver voices
re-enchant the dusk
to keep at bay
the wolfish dreams,
I sleep
with gentle sorrow
cradled in my arms
~red lights 15:2, June, 2019
