This spring's miracle is just
That the yellow swallowtail
Came back to my yard
And made me a man again
Despite my warring nature
Who watches for such things
As proof of a god so small
He must be the last of his kind
With just enough light left
To stumble into wings
Or else he is just the first
Of many angels who make it across
That invisible abyss
We who would not come to him
So he must come to us
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