There are flies,
And then, there are beautiful flies
That flutter just out of reach.
They cast their spells
Of timelessness,
And we follow,
Thinking we can catch them.

Like the mother killdeer,
Who feigns a broken wing
And leads us away from her precious cargo,
Yet unalike, for butterflies
Have been known to lead humans
Toward some jealous spirit
Waiting, hidden,
In the merry woods,
To blip us over the head with a Rowan stick,
And turn us into a pool of water.

-jenn