Butterfly

One staggers when
one mistakes before for behind.
To be alone was to be alone.

Loved the mirror.
A kaleidoscope in a glass case.

Something like touching the root of shadow.
That left arm will never return.
My left eye had seen too far behind me.

In the morning the thought returns:
being alone makes us dream.
Adrift in a dream, wings beat.

Don’t let go of my hand—please.
Is my left eye shining?
What are you thinking?

The bell atop the tower rings.
Even my right eye, still closed,
is rubbed awake.
All are blessed alike.

Do not forget, butterfly.
To dream is to deepen;
the world leans toward light.

A chance light
is cast down your well.
You blaze.

Rise again.
As a butterfly without a left arm,
dance alone.

Look death in the eye.
Your well is deep.

That fire reflects you.

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