Death of a Butterfly
A frozen butterfly fell, caught by frozen sky,
still miming flight, as if in silent applause
amidst the deep red tears of a peony’s cry
and the hoar frost’s breach of seasonal laws.
It should be folded, winter safe within a tree,
not as sacred blood spilt upon a cruel white,
to show how beautiful death’s work can be
blurring thoughts of what’s dark and light.