Spangled Fritillary

At this time
of endless dusk
and early dawn
a hummingbird feeds
in the bee balm
and bees disappear
in the foxglove blossoms.

My wife and I watch
a great spangled fritillary
lick the orange petals
of the butterfly weed.

We peer together
at the stunning
black and orange
patter of its wings.

I ask myself,
"What is it, then,
that leads me
to love this person
standing next to me?"

Grape vines
climb the arbor
morning glories strive
to beat the slugs,
the heat, the drought.

Iris past their prime
leave so many dead heads
in the garden
lupine gone to seed
peonies abandoned.

Nothing lasts forever
I tell myself
like these flowers,
I, too, will die.

But the daisys beckon
alive with white
the lilies sizzle
in the forest light

And then,
my Who Gives A Shit voice
awakens in this dream
of summer bliss.

Because life will be gone
it never is?
I bite my tongue
Because it will be gone,
it is,
like the scarlet tanager
singing in the plum tree
like the painted turtle
basking on the log
like the bear cub
scampering across the road
it is
like a bullfrog's croak
like a garter snake
like a spider spinning
it is
like a great spangled fritillary
and the touch of my lover's hand
It is!
It is!
It is!