The Butterfly Lands
At the mouth of a cave cut from limestone,
We were suddenly swathed in butterflies.
They’d swarmed upon us from the valley below
Like bees protecting their hive. Except not.
We weren’t even sweet that day. We were hot.
And they were a tide, not a swarm. That “No!”
Was misplaced, from other times, and other cries.
And just before one lit .. was a sigh. Not a groan.