Sunday, March 4, 2007


"flutter under flurries"

the green cup,
clutched in warming hands,
emanating ripples that roll up to an edge,
then echo,
back upon themselves,
then eventually rejoin with where they begin.
as night air
that tries to pierce glass,
cannot win the fight as heat i hold fights it back,
like the sweet voice,
still whispers in my ear,
talks above the worries until they dissappear,
like butterflies,
that shouldn't have survived,
yet flutter under flurries
in light of new sunrises.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Are they butterflies, or flutterbys?