Monday, February 13, 2006
I used to collect words
I used to collect wordsLike I collect butterflies.
They lived
Behind a glass window,
Their phonemes
Folded
In suspended flight,
Their fragile meanings
Tapping silently against the glass.
There always were butterflies
Lovelier,
Rarer,
Silent in sentences and stanzas,
A sigh
On a page.
You found me
A lost little girl
Between pages.
“No more butterflies”, I wept.
“There are no more butterflies in the world.”
You smashed my glass windows
And set my words
Fluttering into faraway whispers.
I have no need for glass windows anymore.
Just your hands
Where my words alight
Every now and then.
--10-12-04
