10.12.06

One shake of the butterfly tree
and stowaways rain in every direction,
leaving us to walk in wonder through the downpour,
shaking petals and
dreaming corpses from our hair.
I remember the day that I first woke up here-
strange bed, strange place, strange faces-
and saw the wind's currents outlined
by these thousands of nomad crusaders,
fluttering through the early August heat like autumn leaves.
Between the ceaseless daytime migrations and the
sundown song of stars,
I found myself believing that this hideout on the hill
might save even me.

A butterfly beats its wings in one part of the world
and in another, a heart blooms all over again.