Seven white butterflies delicate in a hurry look how they bang the pages of their wings as they fly to the fields of mustard yellow and orange and plain gold all eternity is in the moment this is what Blake said Whitman said such wisdom in the agitated motions of the mind seven dancers floating even as worms toward paradise see how they banter and riot and rise to the trees flutter lob their white bodies into the invisible wind weightless lacy willing to deliver themselves unto the universe now each settles down on a yellow thumb on a brassy stem now all seven are rapidly sipping from the golden tower who would have thought it could be so easy?