Chimera

Through the glass
a fragile image wavers
pale behind reflected skies –
mirrored moments
overlapping in a quirk of time.

A sea away
your hair falls back
revealing ice behind your eyes.

My hands reach out
to shatter glass
and break, instead,
the charm of this illusion.

March, 2009

Chrysalis

Wisps of cirrus stroked the heavens, chastening
September's cobalt skies - those hues which sting
the eyes on brighter afternoons. The news was doom.
We stood, my friend and I, in weight of silence

while each passer-by would nod a greeting, smiling,
then would motivate their step to leave us be.
Perhaps we should have mourned more privately;
no tears, and yet the pall was thick as winter fog.

That morning's call had left me stunned, a hollow
growing round my heart from fear, but vexing more
at how a cosmic plan would dare be this unjust,
so sure this woman suffering endured enough.

What past-life sins could strap her to a body
broken so, to suffer through and gain her strength
of soul, her true conviction in what must be good,
then wave reward just moments shy of gifting ruin?

For forty years their love postponed but now deserved
had been preserved until two hearts were strong
enough to know the good of what their joining meant -
two weak hearts tempered through the living fires.

No sooner had desire been given chance to flame
than she would know her death - her lungs to lose
their breath in increments while he'd be made
to bear this cross as widower again.

My friend and I, we spoke of this as though
his cross was harder. In a daze, my gaze
picked up a passing fleck, a darkened movement
in the air just as the reaper flew it there.

"Oh, look!" my friend cried out, "A sign, perhaps
to lift your spirits." And the darkness bloomed
into a butterfly. I shrugged the thought,
but kept my eyes transfixed upon its wings.

Deep fascination drew me. Was it death
or was it life - this darkened symbol that now flew
directly to me. Blackness flitted round our heads.
The more it stayed, the more I stared. What beauty

could this harbinger expect me to accept?
No matter what I did believe, my heart still wept.
The butterfly brought focus to the silence
on the sidewalk at my feet and rested there.

This omen still seemed happenstance and so
I thought a test of just how random was
its lighting near. I stooped to press my hand
upon the ground. Not even life made sound.

These wings of death embellished by the cobalt skies
ne'er trembled at my offering, the nimble,
thin thread legs made sure-foot steps toward my fingers,
never hesitating once to take their place.

I raised the wisp toward my face and stood
in easy wonder. Afraid to shake it loose,
but still I turned my hand to push all doubt aside.
It clung . . . until I knew what truth it pledged.

A tender heart, a woman cruelly tied to pain
would be released upon the firmament
to manifest a resonance in time -
from damaged chrysalis to butterfly sublime.

October, 2009