Death After the Deed

A butterfly circles through

the whispering grass at dawn

with busy wings that catch

the susurrus of first light.

This one drifts from one flower

to the next wild,

never lands, embraces the heart

of an empty sky above

and the quiet earth below—

all speak in different tongues.

It pauses on a dew-covered leaf

and spreads its wings wide

to flaunt its own colors

as the world spins love songs.

This butterfly drives a search for nectar

it cannot name, no longing— a male

gifts sperm in a packet then seals the sac,

the female lays eggs as her wings die.