Lyn Wilson, Dept. Greek, Roman and Egyptian Studies, Monash University, Clayton, Victoria 3168, Australia. e-mail: c/- email@example.com Did you know that just a touch of a warm sweaty hand might dissolve this butterfly into myriad dust-motes, 5,000 tiny scales of blindingly iridescent tracery? That even in close airy spaces, forests where wing-shaped leaves flutter thickly under a sun-struck canopy, an imago may shine only for fifteen days? Into this deep green underworld, where vines wrap heavy curtains around tree-poles, and lianas that tracked the sun end coiled in endless circles on a floor crawling with baby-flesh, ferns and saplings, two travellers flitted, freely. Tip-touching with words, lips and fingers, they grew between them a butterfly love, irresistible as the swirl of a mountain stream, as brief and bright as Ulysses' wing-span. But even odysseys must end. At home, weaving a net sparkling with tears and fidelity, a wife waits impatiently to fold Ulysses in her arms, back into a bed spliced craftily to a stout tree. With words as subtle as silk, as patterns on blue wings, she draws him near. Doesn't she know that one touch of her hands might enshroud him in a pale chrysalic web, that a butterfly love flutters incandescently round his heart?
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Electronic Antiquity Vol. 1 Issue 3 - August 1993 edited by Peter Toohey and Ian Worthington email@example.com ISSN 1320-3606