A cabbage butterfly on white clematis?
Monarch on a windblown tiger lily?
You have to look closely. Some creatures
take great pains not to be seen, eons
of effort, changes you would not believe.
Now crisp leaves curl around clay pots
on the sill: a face could fist and tears come
thinking of all we missed or misunderstood.
We have exchanged so much of ourselves
for so long it could be we’ve disappeared
into each other. I’m not sure where to look
sometimes, or if you can see me. All I know
is I don’t want to be a memory just yet.
Can we see each other as we are? Or
only as we were? Do we still have wings?