He laughed out loud because it was that butterfly again, the one he’d chase as a boy, wild and hot with his net at the ready, for it was big and rare with downy wings, and it was everything black and red and blue and flick-flick-flicker, it was everywhere and nowhere with dark, serrated wings and he jumped with his net and flick-flick-flicker, it was gone and never ever more… Wait, here it was again, anywhere and nowhere, it was behind his neck in the moon sailing white and in front of him on the road sailing white, it was flick flick flicker in the flight of lights and shadows through the edges of the forest, and in the two poplars that had been there forever.

And now it was all just happy nonsense and a meaningless song about a pair of lashes.

November, 2009