on snow & butterflies

Enduring migration the monarchs
gather in trees to sleep. Fold.
This is nothing new.

Already the trees prepare
their limbs elastic as
they’ve unfurled themselves

To snatch
whatever must fall — be it
snow, be it rain,

be it the tumbling child, the kite,
be it the rare orange burdens
of a beauty soon to flag.

Image: Geran de Klerk on Unsplash

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