Butterfly Escort by Sam Flot

Butterfly Escort

I stumbled in the pre-dawn and

Remembered in the aftermath

As the sequences waterfalled

Like butterflies knuckleball or flutter

Over picnics and clovers and camps full of clutter

Winding through the air above the pasture pure

To the edge of the forest

Passing pine cones and pine needles

As if they were lost in the wee hours of dark

 As the songbirds release their songs on a lark

In the morning’s first recognition of the day

Remembering how to ride a bicycle

After seemingly having learned so much

The day before

So many things I’ve learned and learned before

Retroactively pursuing the journey prize of a butterfly escort

7.10.2014

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Said The Canvas Beneath The Paint by Sam Flot

Said The Canvas Beneath The Paint

Breaking down the easy spirits

Above ground alone to my senses

Peripheral dense in the depths of the present tense

Grinding the halt to a stop

Entirely

Dominating the prophetic illusions come true

Like tributaries form the big rivers

Like teardrops in a bucket

Like one bird amongst all the birds flying over this earth

Said the canvas beneath the paint

To the bear in the pot belly pot

While calling the kettle a slacker

From the worn leather couch

Across the shag carpeted floor

While grinning like a canvas in his blank youth

Unflappably flying

Any flag that the flock floats

8.16.2014

CFR

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