It caught my eye, it caught my eye,
That fluttering flake of fallen sky.

It rode the wind as cars bored by
And did not die:

And shall not die,
That fluttering flake of fallen sky.

Post-Performative Post-Scriptum

A poem written months ago about a briefly glimpsed blue butterfly flying along — and over — a busy road. I don’t know the species, but Polyommatus icarus seems a reasonable guess.