The butterfly flits as a butterfly does
around and round my head it goes
Thoughts and memories trailing from its wings like dust.
They fall in my hair, in my eyes, filling my nose and mouth.
Choking on old cries, blinded by forgotten tears, body aching from closed wounds remembered as vividly as the day the were struck.
The butterfly is a two faced desert man,
and gives me pleasure and pain in equal measure
It sits on the wall and stares at me, its wings alive
The face in constant motion yet absolutely still
You cant catch it, no net, cage or snare will hold it,
all you can do is close your eyes, open your heart, and hope it comes to you.
