Its Name

Here’s a revision to the poem I posted earlier today. It needed to grow. Growing well? I don’t know.

Image result for black butterfly

Its Name

See the butterfly,
black, black as ink,
and dusted, lightly,

sugared with the sky’s blue,
see its dodge and weave,
a dancing kite, its lunge

and climb. I imagine
it’s scratching
its name on the afternoon.

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