The Blind Butterfly

You were a fine, frayed thing
Shirt tucked into beetle black slacks
Hair mussed, straight back
A look of clouds in your eyes
Clouds that stormed and shined
As if you were trying to deliberate
On whether you were a butterfly or not

Curled orangutan hands
Stained orange from years of clay
Desert lips aching for rain
Those raspberry tectonic plates
Are not quenched by your trembling tongue
I watched you spread your wings
Heart sinking as they melted in the sun

Behind those cedar curls
Is a world you forgot to live
A world where I don't exist
To observe your bitter hopes
Bitter dreams, bittern wings
Where a barrier resides
Between the mundane and the sky

But you ignore the deep recesses
of a dreamless, sleepless place
Your filthy coat still glitters
In your alternative sun's meek rays
You stay where safety hugs you
You imagine a lie, a peace
And remain in the world of Zhuangzi