My temple lies in the middle of a concreate garden of Asters,

Between the Blazing Stars, Butterfly Milkweeds and Lantana’s 

The word was out when their fruits grew out.

An empty space, they gathered in rumours around the last place

I was seen

What I could have been

They reminiscence

“I hope the birds find the butterfly and peck on its paper wings”

“I hope they kill the beauty, peck it to immobility”

“I hope it stays,  far away from this sanctuary”

But the season changed, they were all too late

The garden is surprisingly grey

You found me dim in disarray   

You took me

You claimed me

I am far way