Swallowtail Butterfly — Photo-Artistry by kenne
You pull over to the shoulder
of the two-lane
road and sit for a moment wondering
where you are going
in such a hurry. The valley is burned
out, the oaks
dream day and night of rain
which never comes.
At noon or just before noon
the short shadows
are gray and hold what little
life survives.
In the still heat the engine
clicks, although
the real heat is hours ahead.
You get out and step
cautiously over a low wire
fence and begin
the climb up the yellowed hill.
A hundred feet
ahead the trunks of two
fallen oaks
rust: something passes over
them, a lizard
perhaps or a trick of sight.
The next tree
you pass is unfamiliar,
the trunk dark,
as black as an olive’s; the low
branches stab
out, gnarled and dull; a carob
or a Joshua tree.
A sudden flaring up ahead,
a black-winged
bird rises from nowhere,
white patches
underneath it wings, and is gone.
— from Magpiety by Philip Levine
Thanks for sharing Kenne