Th Flying Petals

Two yellowish ordinary butterflies,
Tiny, like petals of flowers when they fly
Their wings blow soft wind to the sides
Piercing among the light green leaves of Akasia.
I see them, this morning.
Calm, cloudy day.

I met them, once,
Whitish, in my back yard.
A small square of earth stage.
Where the snake berries blanket it.
They danced gracefully like ballerinas in limelight.
I feared a little for them,
After all, Harlem and Jimmy were there,
Lurking behind the pot of tall cactus.

The garden is their resting place
But not their destination.
I can provide little for them
They provide more to me
A stranger invisible to them
Yet vivid in their mind.

White, yellow, I already seen them,
When will black, blue, green, red or purple I encounter.
I am waiting…