Remember the butterfly we kept 
locked up in the cage
and all night long
we heard the tock-rattle of chains
like Horus mourning
above the din of wake's exit? 

How long the wings grew helpless,
the petalled eyes
crushed against the pane
in slowly wilting ripples.

Do you recall the dust that gathered as it
malformed
more of a moth by the moment,
the weight on that little soul?

Our display was famous, wasn't it?
People commented,
said, "What an unusual pet.
Is it alive?"

We joked about not knowing.

The nights we fought like oceans
drowning each other 
with tiny mystic hatreds.
You threatened to cheat on us both but
I just laughed and warned that
I'd smash your plastic Ankh 
on the patio.

And the monarch watched it all,
pleading from its beady platform.

And then it happened,
I'm sure you need no reminder, of the night it began to sing and us,
trenched in our fathoms heard the hum
as the wings beat wild, 
the grey eyes now
huge gold torches, 
the tiny screws twisted.

And as I stood you pushed me
(who knows why?) I fell,
crashed, spluttered
and the glass clicked open
like a single solemn footfall...
and up the chimney it flew.

How it stayed unflamed I'll never know 
but we fought for eras after
regarding its freedom til
soon we were strangers...

I had to write this, 
to put some peace between us.

Whatever the chaos we shared,
that creatures flight was true.
I know that soon I'll see you
but this time
Ill lay some flowers 
on the soil above your pillow.