The Butterfly

Upon your thin frame,
a warmth of light and air, as you balance upon wings, the jeweled painting, the dreams of iridescence as grass thrusts in your passing, solution an appeal.

So delicately it can exhaust; a genius of the day’s charm, exposing places ample, the dirt like calico; these blooms are often unsummoned, yet it all has lush surrender.

• Marianne Moore