Comma, question markare common namesof butterflies.When I learnedthe names of flowersI’d seen all my lifeI felt complete.I walked the dirt roadwith a childand told herchicory, and latergoldenrod and aster.The words weretrue. I wanted toentrust them to her,keys to a kingdompartly plundered.Both butterfliesare brushfoots,hard to tell apart.Their punctuationmarks are silver-white,slight keyholesthat unlocka line of thoughtor leave ithanging.But thought is,like the poet Nerses said,a torrentconquering fortresshill and homeno butterflynot even a kaleidoscopecould pauseor parse,the only counterbalanceto bruteforce,which always wantsthe landthat isn’t evenours but is at besta fieldso vast that no one,no one’s thought,can conquer.One Independence Dayyou asked me whatI valued mostabout the country.The land, I said, meaningthis living field.