the vulture cries
the coyote sings
butterflies are quiet
there is one woman
who has an image of jesus
in the garden, tucked in her arm
i know she has seen the deepest
pain — a butterfly lands in the center
of her palm — it rests there, her heart
listen to the jungle
nature promises
nothing
the rain falls
there is a lullaby
at twilight
the wind whispers
something
i cannot hear
“you belong here,”