My Butterfly

And what my butterfly spoke to me,
Cigarettes on her breath,
As we rode in the back of the bus,
Breathes alive in my head:

"You don't have to be in love
To love."

I imagined her fluttering
                                                   away,
And saw her life's path:
Visiting flowers here and there,
A short and beautiful life
of transience--
Incessant movement.

I looked into her eyes,
Translucent hazel in the streetlight,
As she played sad songs for me,
On her old cassette player--
And I saw the entirety,
Of the woman she belonged to:

I saw the shadowy form of darkness,
That my butterfly of radiance,
Was derived from.

"I'll see you someday."

I smiled softly,
Watching her sunset
In the middle of my night.

"I guess all butterflies have to fly away,
sometime."

And with that,
The bus disappeared,
Her music stopped playing,
And the air grew still–

Quiet,
In my forested mind.