dear dead butterfly:

I wonder when you learned
that beauty is immortal 

Yesterday I saw you
soaring through the
pouring rain
orange and black wings
sodden
Like coffee stains
on parchment paper
But today you are nothing 
But a piece of poetry crumpled by gods fists 
Lying on the side of the road
With ants gnawing at your feet

Dear dead butterfly, 
Who gave you wings?
Who spawned you from your silk-spun cocoon
And flung you into the world’s unforgiving jaws
Who tore you in two 
And left you scarred 
Till your wounds stung
And you were shoved back into your chrysalis again

Dear dead butterfly,
I wonder when you first learned
That your beauty was akin to a poem
Fallen like a leaf from a tree
Into the hands of humanity 
And that you were a work of art
Sculpted and painted 
By the universe

Dear dead butterfly, 
Why do all beautiful things die?
Who devours the moon
And who extinguishes the sun
Who steals the breath of the old
And joy from the young?
Who left you to bleed 
Colorless blood into the Earth?
And how many times will you be 
Reborn 
Again?

Dear dead butterfly, 
I wonder how you knew
That beauty is immortal
That it rises and falls like a hymn
And it’s cadence lives 
Forever in your soul
That you have not died,
only learned how to be Whole.