You must have escaped the moon’s craters,
pale green wings ethereal
as a fairy’s, landing on the rose bush,
reminding me of moments like this lost
treading the world’s wheel.
What brings you to my garden?
Your four painted eyes on wings look at me
as if seeking refuge. I sigh,
want to open my vault of mercy
to your endangered species.
You will perfume the air
for mating, then leave behind eggs,
a new generation,
as the first leaves of fall,
brown and brittle from drought,
dwindle to the ground.