Sometimes his cry would shriek through me and tear at my bones. There would be moments where I was sure I was going to go insane as I tried in my clumsy way to find and meet his need. But there were other times when I was just moved… Moved to the point of tears and chest-splitting empathy.
Wail
Your cry is the sound of blue
swallowtail butterflies
ever so slightly teasing the wind.
With every tear-streaked shred
of your being you call out,
red-faced, to your maker—Hear
and heed what I know
no words to ask.
But all I hear is the beauty,
the flicker of painted wings
bobbing amid bunchgrass
and tall desert dandelions,
singing a call to nectar.
