Sunday, September 13, 2009

the year of the butterfly

my lost breath
the tears of angels
into swamps, into bogs
yes, i have drowned that way before
and been forgiven
come to life again
the better
for it has been accepted
that the horns we grow
as easily can turn to wings
the things we harness
can be released again...
your small fingers
how they've grown
and what they hold
impact me more than even springtime
with its promise
with its bounty
with the oldest truth
whispered in its winds...

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