sentimentally inert
with affections toward butterflies,
even moths
rest, predictably effecting,
the ladders of time
as weeks merge into
one day (light)
spaces beams
intricately,
though
it's pattern of designs,
often go unseen
to all variables in each
fragmentation of scenery
Sparse reception,
scantily clad,
amidst the nets cast unto
methodologies unveiled
organically, naturalistically,
the skeptic must
reconsider his orientation
One small differentiation, a brushing,
a daub, a touch…
Unto nothing
yet, this nothing
is about to
alter everything
For Wednesday Wake Up Call over at New World Creative Union, where Natasha prompts us to think of, and to become inspired by, the butterflies that capture our creative eyes.
