Butterflies

All the things I thought
I wanted have flown away
like butterflies, and what lands

upon me now are petals
light as music, the scent
of November clouds before

the coming snow, the echo
of the children in the other
room, making their own

designs, all these passing things,
how they fill the night
with so much generosity,

a heart could float away
like the sea, a borrowed word,
a letter, a lover’s kiss.

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