Black pin sentinels hold
yellow cellophane thin wings
pressed with rough thumbprints
of deep brown and
magenta in a black frame.
What would it be like to live
under glass? To hear the
muffled, passing
voices of awe and adoration,
as you lie, delicate,
black body in perfect
display, in the odorless air.
I prefer a random, transformed monarch
fluttering in summer blue
caught in the fragility of life
and the senseless,
endless bloom of hope.
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