Butterflies…

I still miss the butterflies most of all,
The ways their thought can change the winds
Miles away from the small tempests they summon
Through the light beat of their irregular wings.

From wings to winds, the difference is a consonant away,
And repercussions span continents, the way they sing
Through the breezes of our minds, and let the sounds
Of what was meant to be, nestle like a song well sung.

The different is just a small time away, and when I began
This vowel made me think of you, and the places we had been,
Drawn there like the moth to the flame, still burning bright,
Hoping that the place is still there, and can yet be seen.

The sights of the place have deceived the senses, and driven
By winds, just created by your unintentional thrall
Tell me that maybe, despite my running, I will see that
I still miss the butterflies most of all…



PrioriThought 2009