I saw a butterfly at the edge of the path

lemon yellow wings trailing my unkempt shoelaces
stalks of corn raised above my crown

 

dress the fields that box me in
the last time I was here, the plots were barren with inert soil
ten paces in, my calves burn from atrophy

 

my body acknowledges this disconnect

sweat pools against my forehead as lungs scramble for oxygen
the scent of raw cut clover commands an audience of my senses
ears guarded by headphones still pinpoint the laughs of children
a fierce and tender homecoming
at the edge of the path landed a butterfly

 

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