This spring thousands and thousands of painted lady butterflies migrated through Calgary...
Day and Night
when butterflies migrate
do they doubt?
crossing continents of the unknown
frail wings are made for such a journey
trembling in the driving rain
primal desperation rises as
countless comrades fall
what is the heart of my quest?
the moon is the lighthouse of the moth
it dances a tango with the sun
the moth circles in a straight line
as the moon roams across the sky
false beacons dazzle all around
drawing the moth into dazed spirals
Lead me onwards;
fix my eyes on the moving signal
across the masses of doubt
and the lure of an earthbound guide; shiny
so I can cross into angelsong