By Enid Osborn
From Little Wakes
Blue, common as sky,
many as borage stars.
perched on the storm gutter,
burbling their melodies,
make the heart jump
more than sparrows in the grass,
for being blue.
And the dainty butterflies—the blues.
But their wings are brown, you say.
Watch. It’s the flutter that makes them
blue, and the shutter in your eye: You
have a part in their becoming blue.
And the dance your heart does
when you see blue: That, too,
is you making a plain moth
Originally published in the Summer 2017 issue of Santa Barbara Seasons Magazine.