Gulf Fritillary

It must have been dashed
by the wind against the front
steps, which is where 
I found it: on its back, wings 
limply outspread (one with
a ragged tip). I took it inside
and laid it on a sunflower-shaped
saucer, which my daughter painted 
some years ago at Color Me   
Mine. I wasn't sure it was alive,
until I saw its feelers feebly
waving. So we carefully dropped
some sugar water around the rim 
and brought it over to the window
where afternoon sunlight might
shed some warmth. Two of its legs
were missing— If we were gods, 
perhaps we'd breathe upon the lost 
or broken parts, enough so it could 
hoist its checkerboard wings then 
circle our heads before rejoining 
the world outside— but not before 
taking one last bit of persimmon 
pulp: such a small portion of what 
we need as part of this living web.