Dyad

When, in twos, along a hillside

In summer, butterflies cavort

And orbit around a lazy

Afternoon, I have felt

The gift of wild surprise,

Of sudden grinning that 

Sculpts the moment from wonder

While tiny pennants of purple 

Wave in the breeze at my wandering feet.

Standing at the base

Of these boulders, silently still,

Soaking up sun, then these wings—

Yes these wings that flutter and flirt 

With my eyes and my yearning

For flight!—

Is about as good, as truly alive, 

Yet aware also of death,
As ever it gets.