Metamorphosis

I have a butterfly
hanging on my wall;
a cobalt blue, morphio didius.

Dead on,
standing parallel
to it's frame,
it appears cobalt.

But when the sun shines
through the curtains,
early in the morning
and I am still in bed,

it appears almost transparent,
and the circularly designed
backside of the wings
seeps through.

And from the same spot,
many hours later,
my nightstand light causes
another striking effect:

one wing is magnificently teal
and glimmers stunningly,
while the other is midnight purple,
reminiscent of the night sky.

I am reminded by this butterfly,
as I am by so many others,
that life is almost never
what it seems, and neither
am I.