Seperate, but not really

Three separate occasions that are in some way related to each other.



(1) Floating through fields of tall grasses and blue bells
We catch our breath with glowing gauze butterfly nets
And exhale
The shards of each other’s wings
That stick to our throats and lungs.
The sky above us begins to quake
And the stars unseal,
Their firefly centers shimmering
And falling
Towards us.

Though we stretch pale arms into the sky, they slip
Between our fingertips
And fall to the ground
Like butterfly wings.



(2) We rush to control the wavering rhythm of
love crescendos
and staccato love-making
like conductors in an orchestra.
But we are pinned to twilight
As orange and blue hesitate in the sky

Stars swarm and stutter across the sunset,
Meandering and mingling
As a storm that plummets to the horizon
And rises on an undetected current.



(3)We are jellyfish in jars,
Hanging like bleach willows, tangled tentacles dangle,
Flaccid and nonliving,
All the gifts of the Pacific
Will not stir us now.

Time moves on without us.
Our lives write the love songs.