Darting, rollicking, bouncing in the wind
the butterfly made its languid way to me
I lay forgotten among the over bright blossoms,
in the earth of the garden of those gone
It wasn't beautiful, it wasn't colorful
it was a great, brown, live butterfly
flapping it's wings among the dead
finding a spot on my gasping chest
I wanted to touch its pulsing wings,
touch life here in the garden of the dead,
where no sparrows called nor worms crawled
only the bright blooms preyed,the vines prowled
Fearing it would fly away if I breathed too hard,
I swallowed my gasps and contained my sobs
It seemed content there on my chest
as my breathing slowed, my sight cleared
I'd never cared much for butterflies
until that day, when one saved my life
I lay in the black mud unseeing, unmoving
my arms slack and my mind hushed
I went to sleep with a butterfly on my heart
with the smell of trees and living in my mind
knowing I lay at the end of the garden of the dead
feeling life knocking again on my beaten chest
