To walk among the butterflies
inside the temporary exhibit
at the Louisville Zoo,
down the hill from the lone lobo
pacing the limits of his enclosure,
and the white rhino, among
the last of her species,

is to see words take shape,
flit from mouth to ear,
some missing, landing
on stems of arrowroot and sage,
others skittering to the floor
not to rise again,

such as those when I said
my happiness
is not dependent
on you.