Vultures, hawks, and butterflies circled
Under contrail lines as the desert blossomed
From Needles, past Iron Mountain, to Borrego:
After the rare rich winter rains, the bloom.
The first thick patch of purple, white, and gold
By the side of the highway was so lavish, so
Garishly colorful, eyes momentarily mistook it
For a floral roadside memorial like those spectacular
Displays common two states east, in New Mexico.
Hordes of small butterflies caromed around
The air above the road, so many, like flies,
Like migrating storms of wildebeest, but winged,
So many that every passing car was a massacre,
Bright golden smears splattering the windshield,
Streaking the hood. Daughter later plucked a dozen
Corpses, wings intact, out of the grille. Life.
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