Marine Blues On Moist Rocks Near a Mountain Stream — Image by kenne
Butterflies on moist rocks,
suddenly the world makes sense.
Color speaking to color,
wing touching wind.
Yes, I think—
this is how things work.
Then, the butterflies lift,
vanish off the rocks,
and the rocks stand alone
with their quiet question.
I get it.
Then I don’t.
— kenne
Fiery Skipper Butterfly — Image by kenne
— kenne
Pipevine Swallowtail On A Thistle — Image by kenne
— kenne
Cloudless Sulphur Butterfly on A Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
Yellow butterfly,
its wings flicker
like thighs parting.
The flower trembles,
stamens sticky,
pollen dust falling,
sweet stink of heat.
Butterfly enters the flower,
slow as the insect’s tongue
sliding into nectar.
The air itself
quivers,
a humming body,
a wet mouth,
a raw opening.
Sunlight hard on the skin,
sweat dripping,
everything exposed.
The butterfly lifts—
nothing holy,
nothing profane,
just wings,
just hunger,
just flight.
Pipevine Swallowtail on Mexican Bird of Paradise — Image by kenne
Sleepy Orange Butterfly — Image by kenne
Sleepy orange rests,
wings folded in morning hush—
dreaming in orange.
It does not sleep as we do,
yet the meadow knows
its quiet rhythm—
a pause between flights,
a breath held in color,
waiting for the calling.
Pipevine Swallowtail — Image by kenne
Wings of Midnight Flame
Where mountains lean into the blue,
and sunlight slips through morning dew,
a whisper lands on greening leaves—
a pipevine swallowtail that weaves.
Like night with edges lit,
its wings flicker in shade where wild things sit.
No hurry here, just sky and stem,
a pulse within the mountain’s hem.
Among the ferns, the sage, the stone,
it moves gracefully and alone.
Each beat of the wing is a silent thread
in tapestry, the peaks have spread.
Brief as breath, yet bold and true,
a flicker of black trimmed in blue.
Fiery Skipper In The Santa Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
Golden wings flicker—
skipper dances on warm wind,
high in Catalina light.
Mexican Fritillary On Mahogany Milkweed — Image by kenne
Desert Stillness
On mahogany milkweed stems,
where desert hushes sunlit gems,
a fritillary folds her wings—
orange fire with softened rings.
She does not rush, the bloom holds still,
Two hearts at peace on granite hill.
The air is warm, the shadows small,
no need to rise, no fear to fall.
Bright as flame, yet calm as stone,
she rests, yet claims the day her own.
In that brief hush, the wild agrees—
grace is quiet among the leaves.
Queen Butterfly — Photo-artistry by kenne
Wings of rust and grace—
Queen drifts over desert hush,
crowned by heat and light.
Pipevine Swallowtail — Image by kenne
Blue wings in sunlight—
thistle opens to the day,
stillness full of flight.
Empress Leilia On The Rocks — Image by kenne
Lupine Blue Butterfly On Cranesbill Wildflower — Image by kenne
American Snout — Image by kenne
Lupine Blue on Bigelow’s Bristlehead — Image by kenne
— kenne
