“one yellow moment”

passing my way, a butterfly
rests on a piss-colored dandelion,
reflecting the morning sun. It sips
the dew dawn left behind.

I see it resting on the piss-colored dandelion
smelling honey-suckle that twines
in the morning sun’s glare. It sips
the air, leaving it sweet.

I sit, smelling the honey-suckle.
Along with raindrops from afar,
the morning sun sips
from the cloud’s gathering in.

And as the raindrops close in,
the morning sun sips, one
last time, the cloud’s depart
as the yellow butterfly passes by.