I asked: Where could I live?
He said: Between the mirror profiles,
where being touches its reflection
and both forget which is real.
I asked: Where does a butterfly live?
He said: Between the mirrors of its wings,
in the trembling symmetry of flight in the hush between two breaths of light.
I asked: Where do the butterflies perish?
He said: Into the oblivion of their beauty,
where colors burn too bright to remain.
I asked: Why?
He said: Because we summon them too often
we keep their ghosts alive in remembrance,
and butterflies
are creatures of balance,
not of longing.
