Two summers gone by now
I spoke to butterflies
They came when I called them
Soared around my head
And fluttered hope into my hopeless heart
Two winters to now
A bright yellow butterfly
Lands on stone at my feet
Facing me without fear
And flexing its wings so slowly
As if it wanted me
to believe
All was real and good and strong
That I was not altered
and stiffened and falsified
But I do not.
And I was.
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