Field of Monarchs
After Mary Oliver
Come with me into the field
of monarchs, where all day
their long thin legs hang
on swaying flowers
Come marvel at the edging
on their wings, delicate
as Tiffany glass, dots
of white so precise
they could be painted
and the orange wings
glowing in the sun like
floating lamps, wings
that fold as they land, like
closing a book when you
sit down to dinner
wings so thin they could be
weightless, might disappear
into the sky were they not attached
to these wiry bodies, also
etched in black and white
and maybe, just maybe
a little of this got inside me
as I walk and pause, walk and
pause, sucking in as much of this
elegance as I can
—Carol Tyx, Prairiewoods artist in residence