Isn't it a pity
We are made by these moments
Of twiddling thumbs in almost-dalliances
Built by the turn of a chair and a question
A failure to ask or a choice not to mention.
What we could be
Rests on butterflies' wings
Birds, we know, migrate
And bees, we know, sting
I suppose it'd be best
To wax optimistic,
There's hope for the flowers yet.
Isn't it strange
If they don't flap our way
We end up on the spines
Of tsunamis we never thought we would ride?
It's truly no wonder
You keep your eyes closed
Riding roller coasters or
Feeling blood leave your body
While a freezing hand cradles.
I should like to think
I would keep my eyes open but
It seems when I do
They just stick to the ceilings of
Waiting rooms and canopies
Bus stops and coffee shops
Restaurants and lecture halls
I do what I have to
To keep them from falling off
Just waiting for an anvil
To plummet, or a message
In a bottle to shake up the moment
Until sometimes I fall
At a 90 degree angle
Onto somebody else
Who's been flung from their meadow
And we feel a cool breeze
From a flap of those wings
And I promise
To keep my eyes steady
