8:30 a.m. - 2011-11-19
Butterfly
My soul lies stretched and flattened
as a butterfly
on the luminous blue screen.
I struggle against the pins,
well aware it is
the only freedom I know.
Each day,
I pour one part sorrow
and one part bliss
for you to record
on the corresponding echo
of your blue soul.
We go on this way,
accumulating fragments
of one another,
letting it be enough.
A collage of despair,
tiny squares of beauty
fill the screens,
alongside words,
scribbled on dreams,
threadbare with neglect.
It is the yin and yang
of a tragedy we cannot
seem to shake.
We writhe as one
severed whole,
clinging to the thread of loss
that binds us still.
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