Monarch

Whether they find the milkweed
By sight or smell, they drift by us
& care nothing for our witness.
Or the ridiculous name, honoring
An Orange king. So little time to
Be alive: to survive is to propagate.
As if imitating, unaware, the noble
Distinction the title confers — resistance
Of all human longing. Let the pretender
Viceroy mimic these fire wings, black
veins, this natural toxicity. A true
Monarch cares only for the brief reign
of perpetuity, unshadowed days as
Sun King. Mindless talk of the soul,
Of transformation, reveal only how
All politics derive from common illusion.
A winging sceptre named for hopeless
Desire: to be ruled by air, by indifference,
Yet in belief of the ragged premise of miracles.
The monarch cannot see you. Somewhere a
Royal body is drawn to the flowers earth offers
At last. So few left & each one dying in its majesty.