Spark
Posted on February 3, 2023 by Anina Robb
Perhaps this is the pupa, hidden
on a low branch, in this abandoned
parking lot where we become something
more when the hatchback closes.
I think about the man in Guatemala
who built a tomb for his lover.
Each solstice, as the sun sets, it casts
her stone shadow on his grave,
enveloping him in her embrace.
For us, there is only the flint of skin
disappearing, windows shivering
the brief beauty of knowing what
becoming a butterfly really means.
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