Monarchs Are Orange

the last gift

she gave before

all the learning

and the planting

of gardens

was to tell the color

of leaving

of graceful flight

of migration born

from a wisdom of the soul

that is older than

the days of men

the morning fog

lifts and the houses

become visible again

on the hillside

tufts of milkweed

wet with the night

whisper about

their hopes for tomorrow

in mown meadows

flush with the memory

of yesterday's white light