Folded up together, a silver backed mass

Of fir-spangled towers. Their secret purpose

 

To cluster here, in the oyamel groves

Of the Michoacan. Fulfilling the generational sacrifice

 

To which Monarchs are bred. Slumbering in

The wuthering heights of the moist canopy.

 

Weighting at last, in their thousands,

The lifelong supporters, the branches.

 

Awaiting their antennas’ signal the earth

Has tilted. Time to puddle minerals and pool life

 

Over again, to cascade with the sun’s affirmative

Rays. Spread their glory of orange and black ripples

 

And flit in praise. They are now Mexican-rich 

Samaras returning. Completing journeys for 

 

Souls of the Mazahua, guarded by descendants

Of Idaho Prairie Natives. Born of the milkweed

 

Planted hedgerows fighting back the robo- dusted

Plains. Tagged by loving pollinators, spurred on

 

By equal laws, school children and fervent

Motorcycling pioneers. Their lives a symbol

 

Of what we do together when we track

With kindness our own circadian compass.