Opposing Mirrors

Morning shift watching him launch himself watching him chasing; 'cabbage white butterflies in my mind's eye, it's a kind of carnival dance one without any graceful feathery ranks one whereby he's always out of step, out of tune one in which both have danced back and forth, through opposing mirrors and herbaceous borders too many times for it to be fun-and-frolics. The butterfly whirls between gaping-finger-grasps Then as nearly always does …this autistic man shouts his ear-piercingly loud protestations he claps at thin blue air changing directions himself becoming the butterfly on its maiden flight. And the butterfly befitting a young autistic boy who now thought he-too, could learn to fly Somehow pirouettes off on high into the sky.