Butterflies, Waiting

(For their First Family. November Eternal, 1963)

Bring green grass and
Lillies, bring children and juice
And blueberries.
Bread. Bring large warm loaves
Of homemade bread
Steaming when you break them open. 

And bring fresh butter.

There are sailboats
Out on the lake
Where invisible angels are dancing
So many in their Light and Dark dress
They’ve turned the Night sky robin-egg blue.
And sparking from their wings
Brushing the horizon so hot,
A fire-orange sundown.

I see a man, a Prince
And a woman, a Princess
Rolling and laughing with their children
In the field by the shore –
Playing the ‘butterfly game’ where
If you see one, you have to be one.

The little boy just wants to watch his dad
And do everything he does.
His bigger sister is swept up by the
Fragrance in her hair –

Like her mother’s blue cornflowers.
Cornflowers and sunlight.
Dreams of a distant dowry.
Love is God.

The Prince knows exactly.
He is asked to lead.
Innate, by heart, he ascends.
His wife recognizes the Deep where
She can unfold her Prince, her children
Into innocence and wisdom.

She loves to laugh – She learns to smile.

If she could she would
See all the children
Gone before and come now,
And to be

In this field with blue cornflowers
And angels and sunlight
And warm bread and sailboats.
She knows we are all this worthy.

Yet most of us have forgotten.
And we grab at butterflies
To pin them to our science
To make money. To take money.

Then the money-takers surrounded the field.
They bring an Italian rifle
To pin their ugly to their forgetfulness.

On the grassy knoll see The Prince watching
Over his family
Over the land
Butterflies, waiting.