The monarch winters in Mexico
After its autumn flight south from Canada and the upper States.
It takes three generations to fly north again, but they know the way.
Three journeys, three deaths, three births—
Before the fourth generation, born in the north, at the end of summer,
Makes its way along the belly of the world
To gather in ever-larger clouds of shimmering orange
And settle on the butterfly trees.
Milkweed at Lake Moreau, 2016
Now I float upon the cool water,
My webbed feet gently keeping me true
As I breathe and come to.
Here I am upon the calm water~
The ungraceful dance,
Frantic footwork to be what I am not,
In the distance swans take flight~
Recognition leaps in my heart
And my wings give a sympathetic shake.
Now, here, I am what I am.
My webbed feet paddle the cool water,
Moving me forward, swift and sure
Until yearning meets with knowing,
And I unfold large, beautiful wings
That carry the drumming of my heart
Across the years and vast deserts I have traveled.
In a moment,
Through a flurry of sun-kissed water,
I am airborne,
Flying to meet my mates.