I glanced outside, and saw a butterfly
suspended in the web a spider set
from oak tree to garage. She caught my eye
as fast as silk had wrapped her in its net,
her wings a banner in the morning sun
that shuttered black and gold against the air.
Then I prepared to watch the spider run
the web and take the beauty captured there.

A half a minute let me justify
my interference, for no spider came.
I dashed outside to free that butterfly,
but never did I touch her wing or aim
for any other thing than liberty
for butterflies in autumn webs, and me.