Mt Ainslie Dreaming

The air is warm and blue the sky.
Black Admirals come teasing by,
the millefiori of our slope
now upbeat as a horoscope.

Where capeweed crimples yellow crêpe,
a kookaburra’s going ape.
Yes skies are warm, and air is free.
Do admirals have eyes for me?

Black Admirals are seasoned flirts.
and flutter strumpet Tudor skirts,
perform athletic genuflections
while sizing up their royal connections,

as wild upon the hillside grow
ten thousand species in-the-know,
that let the infiltrating sun
locate the inmost of each one,

like Austral bluebells on their stems
pursuing level stratagems
to catch upon their stellar eyes
a distillation of the skies.

And daily we will take this path
where butterflies go polymath
and trick the world-of-mind to flutter
around their fine discursive matter.

The air is warm and flirts will hover
until the flush of light is over.
Does all go well across the earth?
That bird is settling in its mirth.