it's like
early season, leaves out
on the low twined branches
with the thought of
    you like
so many cabbage moths
(small white, actually
butterflies)
                       (moths are better anyway)
flittering
fo

r one moment I
say
"you are beautiful" th

e
breeze carries your
white laced wings to my
soft cotton, the canvas I
spread over my
winter-long
in sec ur i ties, 'cause I'm
still like
when I was sev en teen and
believed and believe
you'd never
really
want
b
roken
little
sad
little

me

anyway. and the
air comes in
from the northeast and
you-
-starry eyed-
-dance away, like a
soft
spring laugh.