While sun puts food in flowers,
Poems flit across my mind;
And I must softly cast my net
To keep the powder on their wings.
Succinct and nice. I like the way you place a butterfly in the mind without having to state it, and used that as a metaphor for poetry or the spirit of perhaps.
Thanks, Amorphos. I learned as a child that a butterfly cannot fly without the powder on its wings. It’s a matter of balance, as poems should be.
Yea it’s the coefficient of friction the dust denotes, without which the wings don’t connect with the air too well. So there’s another metaphor; without friction [an aggregate of entropy] a story or poem becomes meaningless. amazing what you can get from a few little words eh. 