a poem for dzhokhar

they say your brother dragged you into it,
the conquering warrior intent on land mass, on massive ego,
they say his convictions were not your own
but in a land so far from home, so far from family,
who else did you have?
they say, they say.

if reincarnation is real, i know you will return
as a monarch butterfly:
regal, kingly, Asianic,
but a power so fleeting as to be no power at all.
from a place of safety you will emerge,
from the wide, sweeping branches
of a royal tree in the heights of the highest mountain:
and, opening your frail wings,
you will be hard-pressed to not be caught up
in the harsh, high winds.
you will experience an unbearable weightlessness,
unthinkable strengthlessness,
you who are named in a tradition of kings and warriors,
you will be stunned by the violence of the world:
appreciable, in your brief beauty;
squashable, like all other bugs.