Black butterflies of luminous markings
have found a place in sun and shade,
in dry and wet, under entanglement
of heavily laden branches.
Here, as well,resides a wasp,
the size of a middle finger,
whose legs set wide apart,
ravages rotting figs.
A gardener in rubber boots,
happens on the feast
and bludgeons the beast
in throes of elevation.
Monday, August 9, 2010
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