Unconscious U
came a beauty to my n
wrist c
and stopped my pencil, o
merged its shadow profile with n
my hand's ghost s
on the page: c
Red Spotted Purple or else Mourning i
Cloak, o
paired thin-as-paper wings, near black, u
were edged on the seam side poppy orange, s
as were its spots. C a m e a B e a u t y
I sat arrested, for its soot-haired
body's worm
shone in the sun.
It bent its tongue long as
a leg
black on my skin
and clung without my
feeling,
while its tomb-stained
duplicate parts of
a window opened.
And then I
moved.
May Swenson, Collected Poems, Library of America, 2013.