Since my sister died
I watch monarchs
float among the flowers
when I walk the wild lands;
they drift
from radish blossom
to mustard cane
with bodies no heavier
than an envelope.
Yet I see only one butterfly
at a time,
every day only one
circles me along the dusty
late spring paths.
Free from sorrow
she floats beside me, back
into the beauty of the world.
— from Juniper Volume 7, Issue 1