once i met a butterfly with
fractured stained-glass wings
so delicate and fluttering
against vivacious winds

twice around me chance it sang
from its sweetly bitter song
in a path of twinkling universes
byzantine and long

thrice it blinked and then
i knew that i’d never know
to what effect its flutter breeze or touch
might tear apart its essence so

twice then it glowed quite prettily
in a rippling neon insanity adored
by shattering millefiori wings which
spun what winds were not before

and yet once the butterfly flew away
it left a world of astral gray
so come, then, Fates, i’ll learn one day
‘twas just a theory anyway