Do Butterflies Die In Flight? Poem by Roger Gerald Hicks

Occasionally she perceives shadows
hooded people
roadside animal silhouettes
indistinct blotches
in the corners of her vision.

She awakes from dreams so vivid
like life in another dimension
more memorable
because they are the most distinct
images in her mind.

After an epiphany for days she cries
never having been so rooted
so cleaved from her sisters
a liquid strained
she passes to the other side
leaving substance flowing
clean without even pigment
only an outline
on water- colour paper-
a nearly indistinguishable flush.

Finally a splash of clarity.
The universe in code
communicating
by unfamiliar media
perhaps a compass whose needle
is orange wind or a pleasant odor
or indigo flashes on a lime moon.

She embraces an enfolding harmony
piled silk gauze, lustrous,
molecular in thickness
but which, when suddenly unfolded,
bends all the hounds
for miles around to bark and howl
hours- cacophony
of surprise, delight, abject misery.

Loss or gain?Could one ever know?