Wings and caterpillars

Still, they have shoulder blades of flight                     
and green like caterpillars will again.                 
Aren't wingless butterflies ugly as sin?   
When repugnantly a child, thinks it a form of Zen.

To pluck and hold limbless an earthly gem.
Whose velum's dust embosses this heart's poem.
Whose indigos descent can we only envy.
Whose aspirations, paperweight loosens spryly?

Still, they too have shoulder blades of love
That'll one day crystallise, bloom into full-bud.
Here descend into the indigos upswing,
As blue Morpho butterflies wings emerging-

 'Scaly-winged' are they, too, who cocoon
Their first wings flight that rest like Buddha
Envisaging the bleakness of loves concord
Whose wings are readied to be ripped?

Primed with all the colours of a tangency
Awaiting eclipse, shouldering our wings
Hidden velour at times from His fingertips
He whom sits as Buddha, amid starry rosehips.