I nearly sit on the yellow moth
speckled with gray
that rests on the patio chair.
Sadly, it crawls across the metal,
wobbling with its single wing.
Up close I see the dark spot
where the second wing once hung.
Oh you poor flightless soul.
No longer will you know the bliss
of fluttering away among the wisteria blossoms
or climbing as high as you please
into the azure sky.
I sense my own grounded flight
on this day when nervousness about travel
has clipped my wings.
The Beloved instructs us to flap
our little wing
while that great Master of flight
flaps as well.
And I see how I forgot
to let that Power guide and calm me.
I sit quietly and seek dharmic direction
about this little soul
and am moved to find a quiet corner
in the garden,
protected from wind and harsh sun.
Then I release it onto a pansy petal.
An hour later, hail and rain pound the garden
and at first I fear for the moth.
But then I see the perfection
in its life as it flutters to a close.
The next day it’s one with the plant;
a little piece of shimmery wing glistens
among the green and yellow.
I too have taken the most blissful of flights
with both wings flapping into the sky.