The Silk and the Tassel

 

The apricot moon rises in my window

as the whirr of the coffee mill

grinds hand-picked Guatemalan beans                

and the pungent scent wafts up the stairs

where I’m abed with a reading light

one eye on the antics of The Monkey Wrench Gang

and their wandering skipper

and one on the sturgeon moon

rising unobstructed above the trees,

a sight the eco-terrorist hooligans would celebrate.

Sheets of rain rattle the corn in the night

rinsing dust off the tassels and dampening the windowsill.

The rain gauge fell into the peony bush Gracie hides under

cool soft earth, her secret place.

Only green marble eyes and velvet rose nose peep out at me.

I fish the gauge out of the foliage

and hang it back on the railing.

For what would I be willing to risk

shackles and confinement,

cat and home and coffee in the morn?

Written to a prompt from dVerse asking poets to choose at least three names of butterflies in a poem. 

My three are: 

Wandering Skipper

Green Marble

Velvet Rose

And for What's Going On  the poet's blog where this week they've asked us to write something about eyes, what we see or what sees us.