Is it snowing, or are those white butterflies?
Let’s ask the cedar. She’ll know.
But what of the daffodils?
And the butterflies themselves?
Yes? No? Maybe? Something else?
And anyway, this all happened yesterday.
Or was it a thousand years ago?
A thousand years, and the butterflies melted on the ground.
Or was it the soft, warm back of the one I love?
Let’s ask the snow. Let’s ask them both. Let’s ask them all.