By Louise Bogan
But of enough
To be great eyes
And diaphanous double vans;
To be ceaseless movement,
Earth repels you.
Light touches you only to shift into iridescence
Upon your body and wings.
You split into the heat.
Swift beyond calculation or capture
You dart into the shadow
Which consumes you.
But at last, when the wind flattens the grasses,
For you, the design and purpose stop.
With the other husks of summer.