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.
