A muted fluttering
In hallways hollow that smell of dust

A bunker window it perches on
Square slab of nothing carved from solid grey
Beside the faded scuff of a rifle ****

A still breeze it bears on its back
Between shame-stained wings
Waiting to stir
The cycle of the solitary
Into the company of ghosts

A gentle glide, the last draught ride
Down to petrified tomes
Stacked high and sealed tight
Covers trembling from horrors inside

It settles here
Where the concrete melts
Cradling, folding into itself
Less than life and more than death
A chrysalis