In Babylon

Dust. Flies. The sour smell of exhaust. Muskmelons sliced open in the street. Pools of green shade in hidden courtyards. Blood-stained flagstones. How does this butterfly missing half a wing still fly so well?

A sound too deep for human hearing makes the towers sway for a few seconds before returning to their heat-struck shimmer. Car alarms start up all over the city. The butterfly doesn’t miss a drunken beat.