Hungry

While putting away our laundry

I find a small luminous green caterpillar,
it is in a clean duvet cover
that had been brought inside days ago.

Carrying it gently downstairs to the garden
it’s head reaches out probing, calling,
like a chick in it’s nest,
open mouthed and squawking.

Like my beautiful new born baby son,
in those first few days before my mind cracked,
open mouthed, craving for my milk,
then snorting in satisfaction.

I leave my green friend on a leaf gobbling.
Me, I crave the intimate Light; longing, hungry. 

Dead White Butterfly

A white butterfly has died

on the uppermost leaf of our sunflower.
She is delicate, translucent, surrendered.

She has a beloved, he is fluttering around her, nudging,
pressing to awake, a desperate hope.
Or is he bullying her, in her last moments?
I long for the first to be true.

I see a third butterfly arrive, wondrous,
she is gently caressing and calling
for her friend to loosen, release, renew.

I watch them fly away together to freedom.
They are a hushed trinity
who whisper of letting go,
of transformation, of resurrection.

Bursting

You are pacing upstairs: thump, thump.
Your mutterings fly butterflies
into a whirling sun.
Your gold dust speckled world
is swirling around you.

I know you will break free from straight line chains,
from dry bone conformity.
You will fly, soar, your own way,
a hidden creature not discovered yet,
bursting colour, dazzling. 

Eternal

There’s a wholeness, a rightness,

a seed at the heart of everything.
Darkness tumbles, obliterating.
But this soars, transcending.

All the worries, gnawing, striving,
will fall away, dust floating.
While the seed blooms eternal,
the roots strong, holding.