Coleman Davis
Blue Swallowtails Sipping Mud
pale wet stars observe
swing open the dawn
bright blue wings close
into dark satin ribbon
then open again
A low sky plays in lakeside gravel while we are chasing down our
thoughts in this mid-season fog. The trail that the dim sun treads
among the dew-damp grasses is the same as ours this morning.
We walk into the bloom of day, test the hinges of our minds.
About the Author
Coleman Davis is the resident forest elf and chief cook and bottle washer at Owsley Fork Writers Sanctuary in Berea, Kentucky.
That’s an evocative poem. Sipping mud makes me think there’s not enough water.
I love that gleaning 😀 the mudflats around the receding lake in mid-season are fascinating.