Ode to the Butterfly
Astronaut,
when you lay weightless in my hand,
wind brushes your presence hush
under my skin and draws goosebumps;
sound falls awestruck out my ears like a starcatcher out to sea.
Among the creatures of leg and leaf,
who cast our flying dreams into the air
as heavy questions for clouds, your
body decides its ship.
And you go.
Up there, way up there,
you look like stars. Your burn roar
lays captive inside the voice boxes of worlds between us,
but as you return, the atmosphere fire of reconciling
paints itself upon your fragile wings
And in the smokesignals a departed sailor
discerns your journey. For all the orbits
written into your feet, when I pull his message
from its salty green bottle, it sounds
like flowers whispering.
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