Metamorphosis -- A Triptych
stretched butterfly seems to know too much
about us as it pumps its wings,
then tiptoes around the grass
where family once met,
can no longer grasp
why it should cleave
to the grub cave,
long soft beats
small tadpoles wriggling no knowledge
of the miscreant tattered footfalls
muddled on the bank dropped underneath,
in slick form, cropped without water.
bull frogs taunt at the end of the rock-strewn
ledge, recoil legs and bulging throats
that rumble; I watch them destroy numb flies
of decked love with the tips of their tongues.
katydid mythology takes me into
its folded wings, a panoply
of leafy bits, remnant pupae
loam flicks an acrid odor
while new summer arrives
at the top of the trees.
tsunami song engulfs last light,
ever glib and dipping over
the deep night breeze, a wonder
grip I want to see as
well as hear; nature would rather
simper under the cloying vine.
Theresa A. Cancro (Wilmington, Delaware USA) writes poetry and fiction. Several of her poems have been published or are forthcoming, in print and at online sites, including Three Line Poetry, Dead Snakes, Napalm and Novocain, Pyrokinection, Kumquat Poetry, Storm Cloud Poets Anthology, A Handful of Stones, A Hundred Gourds, and Shamrock Haiku Journal.