butterfly

it matters where you keep the pin.
i became the left wig & you, right.
what can be said of the shadow box's
saddness. i remember when the trees
were each a wedding. how could i have been
so star-full & greedy. loving you was
archeological. i had a shovel instead
of a tongue. becoming the shared 
specimen. iridescent & not quit gone.
ghosts of fellow shoulder blades 
coming to greet us in the afterworld.
after you stole nectar. after i 
took the pin in my hand & called you
selfish. arm in arm with angels.
you were never an attentive wing.
always taking the wind's word for it.
caution is the art of mistrust. 
swells until there is no sky left.
we could have been devoured but instead
bed ridden, we don't share 
a single story. i say to myself
when i am away--i'll write us 
a graveyard fit for this kind of 
uncoupling. you speak in only flutter.
our paper is showing. window opens itself.
luckily there is a sheet of glass
to keep us viewable. do you remember
picking flowers on the solstice?
how they dried & turned dust?
this is us. each wing a separate tunnel
through which the same sun lives
apologetically. a pair of eyes arrives.
planetary. looming. when i sleep
i do so in order to forget the pin.