The Scrap

It’s a whole life,
More lives inside
With lives inside,

This imago,
White butterfly.
But it spins by

Like a torn scrap,
Paper, plastic,
Caught by a gust,

One more object
At the mercy
Of entropy,

And it is that,
But also life,
A whole life, more

Lives inside, more
Lives inside, like
All lives, like life.