I dreamt I was a butterfly, by Emil Sinclair

I dreamt I was a butterfly
(with apologies to Chuang Tzu)
by Emil Sinclair

Once I dreamed that
I was a butterfly
playing Scriabin’s
piano sonata
number four
in a concert hall
of great renown.
All the other butterflies
flapped their wings in joy
and deep appreciation,
as the bumblebees
hummed along in unison,
and a lone ladybug
danced a solo jig—
mad dance!
mad dance!
—up and down
the center aisle;
back and forth,
back and forth,
to the amazed delight
of the fireflies,
their bright bellies pulsing:
estatico, estatico.
I was the star
that night,
burning so fiercely
that I singed the wings
of the dragonflies,
in shimmering iridescence,
who buzzed the stage
in homage to me.
Then I took my bows,
and thanked the ladybug
for my wish fulfilled
and her eternal
dance of glory.

Emil Sinclair is the pseudonym of a sometime poet and longtime philosophy professor in New York City.

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