Butterfly
Autumn walks reveal
few bouts of color
in dry brome grass.
A monarch butterfly,
so rare these days,
flutters drunkenly
among dead leaves
sprayed by a cool
dry breeze. It last
furl in this world
that slowly desiccates
whispers a future
secret I cannot
understand. I can
only watch it float
and dip and swirl
until it vanishes
somewhere into
my humid past.