my eye finds a single butterfly poignant, alluring, and shadow-lonely. yesterday was world refugee day. last year there were seventy-one million refugees, not counting the ones who went extinct. it's the first day of summer. jay's mom died. i used to think transition was a softening of death, but i can imagine now that death is a transition to something. how could there be so much early death and desperation without hope. i hope the season is just late, not belated, but it seems to me there are very few butterflies and bees.