I catch the flight of butterflies through a sea of gravel. I catch summer
as it is singing on its saffron-hued rock. Rock flight through saffron
saffron caught singing.
I lay my instrument down without knowing why. I trace shadows that refuse
to merge with the arc of the sun. The mysteries we lightly find, lay.
I whisper beside you, Last night I saw a flight- . I take heart from
sentient, unconscious joys. No sentiment from shadow passing.
[Originally published in the October/November 2003 issue of Boston Review]