Driving Into Sunset

A poem.

By

The butterflies are playing
too close to the highway,
as if sucked into a vortex
of car current and monarch dashes.
Twilight floods the road
until it becomes a purple river
sweeping around the bend.
Fluttering wings become flashing fins
and I am a fisherman now,
not walking on water but waiting,
watching for some ripple to remind me
it's time to go ashore.

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