By Ketty Nivyabandi

The old butterfly flaps its slender wings through the smoky air
exhausted and breathless
he flies over the ashy battlefields 
and lays his powdery, golden trail 
on the wailing grounds

he dives into the grey, dry seas
now a swirl of buttery yellows
deep, deep blues
orange blossoms and peels

he breathes in all the unborn flowers
and he lives. 

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