Butterflies that flew br in 1932 br br still held in that summer br by the equisitely neat caligraphy br & cruel glinting pin. br br I wipe the dust br from the glass br br & they gleam br as if they still dream br br of being br alive. br br i smash the glass br clutch them in my hand & climb br br from attic to roof br & slowly br br drawing myself up to br my full height br br release them br back into time br br smile as they flutter br in the summer breeze br br of then & now br br br their dead eyes br taking it br br clouds...trees...