Dovina2 May 2006

I don’t want to be motherly or take you under a wing as a mate of God might, and I know this seems overbearing, but here we go:

A riverborn reflection,
Winter jaded, white on green,
Once a laden oak,
Now, statuesque as memory,
Seemingly awake, remembering
The year's last caterpillar,
A copper spark - hue dash,
Spinning,
Uncertainly settling into his woven urn,
Like a zealous acrobat rocking under shade.

That spread-leaf (oaks don’t have needles) undead tree let the wind cry,
Giving voice to his skin,
To the caterpillar:
"Why do you hang here,
Away from the others in their wind-chime chatter?
Do you fear the hollow resonance?
You, butterfly, shall be adored in equal measure,
Sustained by sap and leaf,
Though I shall be cut down by those who planted me
Many winters ago
When water trickled.
Then I drew from that well of life eternal.
(cliché – change this.)
Now see,
I bring a symbol of violence
Here on this hill in praise of the sun.
Still you are silent,
Named and broken.
What will your wings resemble when you appear from this web?
Your coat will turn,
Leaping about, zesty as rays upon silver.”

“The cost of transformation you will not find;
Thirty tears will buy your passage.
Nor will you reckon with those who dig my grave;
These gardeners are warriors.
Gleaming blades will strike, and they, the marchers,
They will seek my crown through the crossing of thorns,
For the carpenter I am,
For the writer I am.
From afar, I will be spied
And hear their chant:
'He, a Zeus of nature!
Cast him down to leave his print-
Let him lie in a sealed tome
Let him carry the messages of Man'
On the wind I shall hang like you, caterpillar,
Light among zephyr and rain until salvation."

I like the Biblical image, the transformation of caterpillar as life after death, perhaps. Not sure what the dead oak tree represents – could be the Bible or old tradition now gone.