(after Evalyn Holy’s painting, Daydreaming)
The days roll by, the miles pass.
That isn’t strictly true. I move,
while time and topography
take scant notice of me,
and my mind travels farther,
a separate being roaming afield.
I could be a malachite, I see myself a jaguar,
happily low in status, an apex predator
content to thrive on who doesn’t need
putrid carcass flesh, carrion to survive,
fresh dung, who fears only Man
rotting fruit. and ubiquitous Time.
Short-lived, fearful, My purr in the night
I scare nothing, scares more than
bring nothing harm. any lion’s roar.
Coming back, I see myself straddling the two,
possessing qualities of each while leaning
toward the butterfly, its vulnerability balanced
by gentle ways, and know I want to come back,
not by resurrection or rebirth, but incarnation.