Poem written the day after learning of my son's death
Our baby loved butterflies.
I've been looking for my spiritual guide.
It took this very moment
to see through my baby's eyes.
All men are born philosophers
but few will accept the prize
Their lives are a commitment to elegance-
These little ones, these wise.
Loss is like a garden
of everything that will never be.
It moves through mind succinctly
to prick the heart with need.
But our baby loved butterflies
And butterflies it will be.