Butterflies

There are days, like a shirt left open

dark and blue

from the rummage of last night

but somehow these do not count, and butterflies

will soon fly away. But those in between

a yes – always an echo

a disposable cry to forecast how deeply

the ground’s seed has taken root.

These

butterflies

surrender all vanities (even your

raft on the Okeechobee River).

Deep in the woods

the mist ties hands with the branches and

one breathes and

smiles and forgets about storytelling.