let out the butterfly

v.

maddening heartsickness

I blur into the sea foam
of a pearly candle wax;
I clutch the gilded cross
upon my glimmering décolletage.

I seem to be slipping
my delicate feet into
the shoes of someone
long asleep, long forgotten.

There is a flame
that burns not,
such tenderness in me,
for I have conversed with you.

A mute butterfly of mine
took gentle steps from the tip
of my finger to yours
and you took liking in it.

Oh well, a face and a heart,
long asleep, long forgotten,
has awoken—matter of fact,
two pairs have.

You recognized that creature,
its wings you have come
to know by touch,
its fluttering by hearing.

Among the rosy florets
drifts the sun's reflection
like the body of a pearl—
I gather it into my palms.

Stooped in this pond
of maddening heartsickness,
I pray to God: remove me,
remove what is not good for me.

The rushing thoughts halt
in their unforgiving flow,
though the tenderness
remains.

I am tender.
I am.
I am.
I am here.