A butterfly shuffles its feet
on the mat in front of its door.

It hangs its wings on the hook
in the hallway and cradles its wife.

“We lost another one today,” it whispers.

The butterfly’s wife pats
her husband’s thorax.

“One day it will be me,” the butterfly says.

“Until then,” the wife says
“let’s eat honeysuckle steaks
and drink rivers.”

They hold hands into the kitchen,
watch the rain come down
like flightless stones.