The Statue Speaks

In the middle of the summer, the butterfly alit on the nose of the

statue.

It had to be removed with a stick

And the person who removed it with a stick

Eventually had to be removed, pried up by God.

I myself would have fed remains of the butterfly into the statue,

placing it at the edge of the copper lips

And waited for the wind to blow it in.

Good heavens what a taste

A little like sugar, something like kale;

I seem to have stuck my tongue into the jar of eternity.