Carlos Amorales "Black Cloud" (2007)

Thousands of black cut paper butterflies 

pinned to white walls. Secretly and quietly, 

I think in butterflies, since visiting 

the Botanical Garden one day, each

of us handed a cool envelope  

of a butterfly overnighted by post.

We were enclosed in an outdoor room 

of dark green screens to keep the insects safe, 

clinging to our shoulders. Together we ceased 

being strangers, cradling the tiny

fluttering beings to protect their moist wings, 

our awe matching their struggle for 

their whole short lives as miniature saints 

beyond any holiness we might claim.