Vanessa atalanta has an Italian ring to it,
but she flies
among the briar blossoms here in Donegal.
When I first came to this house, I found
her in every room; her wings folded above her body.
In Winter, she’d sometimes be stirring; but now ‒ never;
what did I do?
She is, herself, an airborne flower
and I am always delighted to have her, for a moment,
in my cupped hands; but in December?
On reflection, I have been removing the briars
and pulling the running ivy;
bringing the garden to heel, you might say;
there are a lot of new houses going up around here.
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