During the Fall, monarchs

Descend upon Pelee

Like the laughter of children

Among the gardens of Eden

On a journey south to Mexico

With hundreds of miles to go

A layover stop for them—

They blow in with the wind

And drop like a quilt

Of orange and black patches

Covering the entire island to

Flutter in the weeds and trees

As if the north air were speaking—

The trick is to get in close

To one, backlit by the sun

On a leaf, to see how singular

And delicate each wing is

A skeleton in transparency

Which composes the colony—

And consider how life

Began eons ago with milkweed

Scattered across the countryside

The sky falling, and the sun

Coming down to rest on this island.