(Revision) March of the Monarchs

The fanciful monarch butterflies spring,
lifting their wings, seeking connection to light,
soaring above spectators waiting
to witness their journey of life,
that moment when they first take flight
along the dirt path of the Transvolcanic Plateau

of Mexico.  Wishful children stand on a plateau
of dreams, tickled by tiny hopeful feet tapping springy
feelers on fingers, then watch imagination fly
off by wings.  Young eyes dance with sparkling lights
of expressions, like the budding colors of wildlife.
Butterflies began their rush avoiding the weight

of rained down wings.  Monarchs find their way
north with genetic force, like an actor to a platform.
They witness smears of orange and black now falling lifeless
along a muddy pass with blades of greening sprigs
of grass.  Monarchs search for milkweed to lighten
up their grayed graveled roads of humming cars flying

past their frazzled wings.  Instinct without flighty
desires whisk them through the weighty
winds of California, gumption guides them like a lighthouse
through the darkness.  Migrating to the high planes
of Canada, setting sights each spring,
determined every March and April, laying lives

along each showy milkweed’s bract. Like lively
marching monarchs struggling for survival, flitting
by birds crouching in eucalyptus leaves ready to spring.
Sleeping in trees like clustered grapes, evading harm’s way,
their strong hearts’ prayers at dark plainly
for pursuing a roost and keeping warm on star lit

nights.  Soaring by day on streams of air lightly
flowing beneath their wings; a lifeline
carrying them through their fading youth, like a plane’s
pilot hastening impatient passengers over fleeting
destinations.  Departed ancestors’ visions weigh
on butterfly hearts as they near their roost past Colorado Springs.

Butterflies lightly flow by each year like flittering
flowers in bloom, seeking life and waiting
to roost on a plateau in Canada each spring.