A Brooch Of Butterflies

I never did notice Deaths gape advancing peeking at me. Until I was - watching him. I'd seen him in the coal cellar. I'd seen him in the closet. Like a brooch of butterflies I crumpled in my pocket. I'd seen him in the dark eyes of a roadside rabbit with tyre print fur and a broken jaw socket. It's only now I've noticed Death. 'That he's been playing- all along, hide and seek.' His introverted web is just out of reach. Do I think to ask of him? to count backwards, sure enough, I did both. But he's a cheat and I'll-be-found like a brooch butterfly crumpled in his childlike, musty pocket.