Swallowtails

Sleep did not come easy, nor did dawn arrive as a sweet kiss upon a cheek of hope, spring has yet to dwell in all of winter's vacant spaces. I lay there, long after sun slithered through the creases of the blinds, beneath my thin blanket, the one with the map of the world on it's top... ( I always like to know where it is that I am ) I lay there and thought about what was going to become of me, you know, that crib to grave thing...child to man to child again, then suddenly I remembered the swallowtails I saw yesterday, the first of the season, and how I wrote a poem about them and then tucked it away into a drawer. The swallowtails arrived today, sweeping away all of winter's leftover silence, gripped upon threads of airy current and spring's coming. Three, four...more, now seven...kite-wings of sun and night sharing a backbone of flight, first sign of migration north from polar south, dew dripping from each tired mouth, they flit and steer this way and that, light, for just a moment, and off they go. Gone, the scene more poetic than I could ever show. Now, the hours are dragging their tired heels again, toe to toe with loneliness, and I am wondering... how do some people do it, make the most of things when there is nothing else to make. (April 20 2016)