does the butterfly
in the watering hole
of an elephant’s footprint
ask its purpose?
does it pause, wondering about the consequences
of the movement that flows so effortless from breeze to wing
and back again?
must I question the clip clop of flip flops on docks
in a comfortable air served up
for musing, for(e)seeing today?
solo, tufted heron in the mud
eyes my flapping elbows
as I push my cart of supplies,
chasing the space between
the planks.
can there really be no difference between the drone of cars
and my clomping along?
no space between my skin and the hovering, pungent salt?
no other stirring human is here to remind me
anymore of human behavior –
my hermitage moves with me,
each seen thing dances on the back of my mobile cave,
my one cranium wall,
every thought – shadows moving.
to take on a body, to buy a ticket to this short matinee,
one agrees to take one’s seat, one agrees to smell through one nose.
almost 50 years in this seat
has me settling in at last, to this – my single, solitary
point of viewing, for now, and with this sigh
as deep as hip bones,
some thing pulls back a curtain.
the ache of aloneness blows
out the clotted vein,
blasts away any clinging to an artery.
once again
I pulse the beat of birds
who never knew difference between my eye and theirs,
between my foot or some claw.
I’ve a feather in my mouth from your molting –
you’ve a candy wrapper in your nest from me.
Life as Improv 
gets me in touch
with my butterfly
nature
and flying
not at all
above the earth
while not thinking
about it 🙂
So many role models
have fluttered past me
through the years –
ever patient with me
plodding by 🙂
You’ve painted a beautiful picture, reminding me of Marianne Williamson’s words: “There is only one of us here.”
Or Rumi’s “…even the phrase ‘each other’ doesn’t make any sense.”
Letting that settle for a few moments into my 50 year-old brain on this Sunday afternoon.
And now realizing that my tummy has been growling for over 2 hours, and is demanding “Enough pondering and sighing! Time for substance!”
Such a helpful thing, remember there’s only one, when interacting with others. The whole things can shift in a second when I remember I’m dealing with another me. I think I was staring into the cupboard at the exact same time, wondering what the fastest thing that could be prepared and eaten, yesterday afternoon. HOpe your refreshment kept you going! Fall days are so glorious 🙂 xo! m
Just exquisite Marga – many congratulations on this work. I find a certain sense of freedom in accepting my animal-ness, in unburdening myself from the subtly-enforced and delusory principle of being human-yet-not-animal, of setting myself apart from my sister and brother animals. Do you? H ❤
I do – way too much for civilized company, lately. 🙂 I could get better at the costume change while it is still needed. x!
You took us with you with that one my friend. Inner thoughts of good company.
within – such wonderful company,
thank you for going along, Dr. M!
Thank you for the candy wrapper 🙂
And the candy.
AllThatIs separate but not separate
You and the butterfly are One
with all beating hearts ❤
Alison
when someone is just walking along, the candy, the bird, the alison a world away, and the breeze become interchangeable – hope your someone is enjoying y/our view, today. so! m
I love the way you blend in, M– so at home with the alligators more ancient than apes, and the patient herons. You are a living camouflage that keeps the cart with the mop bucket and the hose clamps for the bilge pump hidden from view. All the herons see is a very rare breed of butterfly– astounding, but familiar. Ha!
I’ve gotten lost in a few of those all too human spells of meaningless head-scratching exploring the elephant’s footprint. There’s a certain tone of aloneness that resonates with the footprint and shatters the past, an ache that’s also sweet. That makes you want to write a poem…
Michael
So funny how embracing this never-ending aloneness helps connect to everything whereas pushing for connection feels so lonely, turning out the lights improves the sounds 🙂 so grateful your poems flow from this darkness!