A Torn Wing
I suddenly realize
that the torn wing
of a a yellow-tailed butterfly
breaks my heart.
It happens
every time I see one.
Stronger flying things heal
and survive the spring,
and hopefully, the fall.
Just maybe, the ever-relentless
Godfather: winter will stop
his monologuing.
I will move you to the
soft grass
where no one will crush
your delicate, dying beauty.
A life flew by
after I sat down
and saw you die.
There is balance, even in death,
and so much to admire
in the life and contoured colors
of today.
One hundred words isn’t enough
to celebrate a life, however little.
You are my fading beauty,
You are my dying queen.
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