Flight of the Monarch

You slip through the silk folds

of a fresh spring blossom

to rest on a bulb of pollen.

With broad wings tucked behind

your stout, freckled body,

you dip your little boots

into the sparkling powder.

You shake the dust from your heels-

it falls like golden snow

onto the moist slopes of fragrant petals.

You leave and become a flower in flight,

the sky is transformed into a garden

as you dance in the wind.

Sunlight streams through a porous canopy

and illuminates the geometric landscapes

that decorate your wings -

each orange sliver traced in black

turns into a gentle yellow.

You are a cathedral wonder -

in the morning hours your wings are like stained glass,

yet they are softer than the eyelashes of a newborn,

softer than the flame of a birthday candle.

But a breeze will not put you out -

you become alive,

resurrected by the breath of God!