Cocooning

We share a path
of cattails and milkweed
nests of new goslings
birch trees shedding paper
thin skin

Your sleeves long are rolled
to the wrist, cuffed
like navy-man's cap over brow of
phantom fingers, once strong hand
surrendered, given

to war?
defective birth?
angry machine?

You see me see you, and
delicate as a butterfly's wing
slip that arm behind
your back, protective (Of me? Of you? Should pain be polite?)
the loss an untold story,
a link where we connect

I am marching bolder now, or so it seems,
my own hand thrust before me, bearing
traditional summer torch:
pond treasure, milk-bleeding, with
cocoon-ready caterpillar clinging
to bobbing, leafy stalk

Our paths pass.
"Is that heron back there blue?" you ask
before tripping, embarrassed, on a grass-covered root

I hold my torch higher
so we can bear witness, both
to Monarch's promise

I know you fellow pond-walker
wound-wearing friend of
light-winged dragons
able-legged frogs
and willows weeping