If beauty is truth,
what can be said
of the the blue morpho
who closes its brilliance
into camouflage
as it stops to gather
nectar?
seen only in peripheral vision
as it flies fast
over concertina wire
taking its glory
out into the black night?
Or the absent orange monarch
once plentiful in the hydrangea?
If truth is beauty
what am I to learn from these?
that beauty is a transitory thing?
that the truth cannot be held?
that there is honesty in butterflies?
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