Bottled Butterflies

for debby b


It's dark as midnight
At six pm in Windsor.

It's Sunday night and
Things are the same

As if it were Saturday
And as you walk you

Kick rocks hands in
Pockets and nose

Covered by the scarf
That someone special

Gave you a few years
Ago and sometimes

You swear you can still
Smell her on it so you

Stop, and sniff, and
In this half filled

Desolate parking lot,
your vision is given;

The perfect afternoon
On grass and strategic

Trees spread out light
Across your horizon

And there is no one
But you two and nothing

Else you can think of
Wanting. As if all the

Tragedy of your last
Year. Your father. Your

Family your purpose in
Life and all the miles

Of love you have left
To give, you never knew

Of; uncapped like a
Bottomless bottle from

This paradise scape
of cracked Windsor

Parking pavement between
The strip club and the casino;

Fluttering into the air
Like clouds of opals,

Diamonds, and worries
Away on a million wings.




~luc u! '06