flight of the butterfly, rising free
Warm and present aftertaste
Bitter and pure black heat
Feeling the drifting notes
Of a distant song’s subtle beat
To reach into the dark realms
And pull out the eternal wisdom
To step into the memories
Of the ancient builders of time
To read the hearts of passersby
And touch them with a kiss
To feel the colors and light
Harnessing and focusing bliss
To fly amongst the soaring hawks
And see all they can see
To sing the son of morning blooms
Tasting scents of perfect glee
These things, implausible, impossible, yes
And yet, it’s what I do
Harnessing the mystical dreams
Remembered by the ancient few