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.