What if years after the butterflies, and after the fire and ash has settled there is nothing but the pooling of guts. The detritus that lies smitten with various bacterial lineages, and a hot ooze that overboiled from the seams of your heart now are being slowly engulfed; Mesmerised by the steady beats and thumps, the fissioning crowd wells in awe, clawing, a cacophony of enzymes heaving toward the heavy membrane. Swell; where trichogramma turns to ask the orchid floating among the horizon: what do parasites contribute to an ecosystem?
Perhaps the cumulative swarm of such chemically catalytic beasts, towering, twisting, spitting emulate the acute plasmic oxygenation of a flame. A perhaps.
Such are perhaps.