the monarch butterfly came by our porch
every august afternoon
her wings like ashes freckled on rust 
she was beautiful 
and every day she saw us 

she told us about her children 
and their little baby wings
she told us about her heartbreaks
how the bee with the sweetest honey always stings
and on her way home, like a lullaby 
to Old Friend Dusk she always sings 

the monarch on our porch does not know about the moths in our backyard
flap flapping around papi’s untouched grill 
over our windtorn kites 
they don’t fly with grace
we hate them in their flight

we step away from the herd
the monarch’s ghost, we fear it
how could we not have considered
the moth was her silhouette?
a twin universe, a space cadet?

when it is night they meet each other 
a shadow and her severed host 
one lies atop the other
they are one and alone
and then they go home