Nearness

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Tim
seeks me
in the garden

small
white
butterfly

always
hovering
nearby

Ghost
that I glimpse
from the side of my eye

Darting through blossoms
resting on leaves
Taking advantage of sunshine and breeze

Pointing out a shapely cloud
waiting on my mailbox
inquisitive antenna cocked

Reminding me
as mortality
rages on

death
is not
the final stop