The Reclamation of Paradise

The butterflies' abrupt communiqué
        Said all there was to say.
They would no longer serve as go-betweens
        Or act behind the scenes
On our behalf; no stakeouts, hits, or raids.
        Palm-dappled everglades
Would stay unmapped, the beehives' inner rooms
        Would hum untapped, and blooms
Of ageratum, goldenrod, and clover
        Were theirs now. It was over.
We thought we'd had it all impeccably planned;
        We could not understand
This metamorphosis, could not dissect
        Their reasons to reject
Our glorious subversion, so we took
        A long, hard look
At what we needed to succeed again—
        Intelligence—and then
We started out where all those leads begin:
        The net. The jar. The pin.

Copyright © 2009 Stephen Kampa All rights reserved
from Subtropics
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission