Curiosity ~ Lucidity ~ Humanity
Some nights it feels I’m emptying a sea
into this file, a poemful at a time.
But lately it’s the butterflies stop by
to chat: migration, milkweed, chrysalis
perceptions. There’s butterfly physicists
who study this: pupal perceptophiles
who track metamorphosis chronoscent.
It’s a grey area with gaps. It sits
atop the lack of records during change.
Take notes please, my friend. Larval love is one
thing, butterflame another. Get the range
of pace and light and tempo written down.
To be, transitionally, is to know
time by its mouth-feel, to swim on the sun
surface, a bit less ocean, a bit more poem.
Bio-Fragment: Most of the night David Epstein waits, watching the radar, checking the bag-counts on the inbound. On his flights, he wands them in, noticing the lurch-stop of the whole jet when he crosses his sticks. The walk-around. Checking the aft bin. Stacking the carts. Plugging in the ground power. The time clock marks his off hours until he clocks back in. It’s the airport: the rest of life is just hanging around.