She emerges from cocoon, dries
her long slender ballerina wings
that are pale green, mint green.
She does not eat nor drink,
releasing her scent into the air
attracting her lover. They
mate for hours. She finds
the just the right leaf
on just the right tree
to lay her eggs
then falls from its branches
like a beautiful kite
collapsing with no wind.
Her body splendid
and wing green
for only seven nights.
—
Terri Glass is a writer of the natural world. She lives among redwood and black near the Smith River in northern California, Her recent books include, Being Animal, and upcoming, A Bridge Between Worlds by Kelsay Books. Her work has appeared in many journals and anthologies including Wild Gods, Fire and Rain; Ecopoetry of California, and Earth Blessings. She teaches through CAL POETS in the Schools. See www.terriglass.com
