moss like sadness
hiding old wounds
a mourning cloak butterfly
touches down
accompanied by a hydraulic drill
hammering at the quarry
and the screech of steel
from a passing coal train
the butterfly’s dark wings
edged in white look immaculate
after months secluded under
some loose flap of bark
all systems shut down
cells flooded with antifreeze
now come miraculously back
to green unshaded moss
waiting for the sun to open
her bluest wings
of pure grief