Grace
J
Jan Oskar Hansen
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Grace
In Livorno, I touched the wings
of a silky butterfly which had come
to join me at the table.
I had only meant to feel its beauty
but my coarse fingers damaged
delicate wings.
It tried to fly but lost height and
landed in my beer glass; fished it
out but only damaged it more
on an iron table painted summer
green, beside a vase of scented
flowers a fragile life ended.
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