By Richard Weaver
Catch one in flight if you can,
but be careful not to wrinkle
the silk-thin wings.
Not the brown ones, May beetles,
earthbound imitators; The green ones,
the real June bugs, metallic cherubs
infused with summer light.
Take a thread, a single thread,
and loop it aroundone of the dark hind legs.
A simple knot will do.
Nothing elaborate.
And then let go.
Watch as it circles, clockwise,
counterclockwise,
against the quickening cord.
Watch the opaque wings beat
against the reluctant light,
and the blur of its motion,
its perpetual moment
like the wings of a child.
Watch it glow and drift
toward the mimosas
that line the street.
Watch as the wind disappears
beneath its wings in a fit of pique.
Watch it turn north in thanks.
South in prayer.
Then follow the closest star
until only memory remains.
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The author has returned as the writer-in-residence at the James Joyce Pub in Baltimore. Other pubs:Conjunctions, Louisville Review, Southern Quarterly, Birmingham Arts Journal, Coachella Review, FRIGG, Hollins Critic, Xavier Review, Atlanta Review, Dead Mule, Vanderbilt Poetry Review, & New Orleans Review. He’s the author of The Stars Undone (Duende Press, 1992), and wrote the libretto for a symphony, Of Sea and Stars (2005). He was one of the founders of the Black Warrior Review and its Poetry Editor for the first four years. Recently, his 200th prose poem was accepted since 2016.
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