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Caterpillars

You wanted me to kill
the caterpillars who fell
from the eaves to the floor
of the porch, but I said No
and left for New York

and when I came back
I found only the skins
they had left behind
that looked like death

but a waft of air
(a caterpillar soul?)
flew near my ear
and told me where
to look: around, all around
the flowerbeds, the lawn.
I think it was my reward.
I looked to the green
where some flew free
free, bright and alive
free of that dark disguise.
I had found them
living as butterflies.