Butterfly Time


When I close my eyes

And fantasize

Before I go to sleep

It is not a man’s lips I touch with mine

That make me fall through butterfly time

They are softer lips

Fuller hips

And eyes profound and deep

She winks long lashes and curls a smile

Intoxicatingly close she stays for awhile

In her embrace

Our fingers lace

We hold each other to keep



There it is.

That moment between the sleepwalking and hazy eyed living

With a jolt, I wake

And for the briefest moment

Half a butterfly flutter

I see.

Life clicks into place

Like a child snapping the last button on a winter coat

A puzzle piece connects snugly

A tossed ball hovers between inertia and gravity

The camera focuses

The sunset flashes green

I stand frozen in the present

A deer with her ears pricked

Everything is unbelievably real.

And then, just as quickly

I am clawed back into the clamor of funhouse mirrors

As if grasping the moment only made it slip away faster

Sweaty palms slip off the monkey bars

I plunge back into the ocean, fighting the riptide that pulls me further out to sea

The present winks away

And the future and past resume their tug-of-war

The Extravaganza

She brushes her windswept hair
Around her noble shoulders
It billows out in swirling patterns of
Grey and white as she prepares for
Her nightly performance

She smiles seductively
Entices her azure lover closer
Whispers in their ear until they blush
A deep shade of cobalt

She giggles
Winks her liquid golden eye
Swipes lipstick and eye shadow across her skin
Unsure if
Or ruby
Goes best with her hair

She drapes a glittering necklace of
City lights
Across her prominent collar bones
For a final touch fastens
Diamond hair pins and jewelry
Over her alluring body

She relishes her irresistible beauty
For the briefest moment
With a soft sigh
Slowly fades into the world of dreams

Content with the resplendence of life

the lone trumpeter

feet firm and apart
shoulders back
eyes closed
lips to metal
and then –

the note.

golden chocolate and
weeping swans
slide through the bell

a second note
glides from the first
fades into the third

and a fourth
a fifth
a sixth

they tumble from the walls
jumble in exquisite patterns
tussle in a game of music

they roll down the aisles
crawl into the seats
slumber in the curtains
swirl on the stage

around her feet.

she sings through the instrument
the brass cools and melts
her fingers

and empty chairs weep,
nod at her story
the stairs groan in sympathy

does she know the power she holds?
kings would kiss her shoes
to listen to


but she plays not for royalty
her audience is the chipping ceiling paint
the crumpled ticket stubs

her loneliness rains from the trumpet
pours into the orchestra pit
the hall floods with her song
will no one listen?

she opens her eyes.

no one is there

but for a face at her feet
and two crossed knees

a friend.

To Sharna.