following the water butterfly

i.
i know i weave like a sauced friend under one flickering light late at night
more like a spirit-led jerked inebriate than a whimsical caper
if my life path could become like the cartoon paths of infants, clarified, looped,
a kind of skipping cursive
spelling out words over life terrains, "peace" "joy" "wonder"
or what my friend says are the three prayers we need: "please" "thank you" "wow"

ii.
if i am following the water
butterfly
of synchronicities,
                        capricious clarities,
read from life's braille
by someone still learning
and unable to distinguish sometimes
the nubs of my digit tips, fingerprint terrains
and the universe's particular guidance
divined from ripples in happenstance
the poetry of moment's juxtaposition
a kind of dada ditty sensed by spirit fingers








iii.
wanting to be more like the still body of the mariposa
wings slowly liftfloat liftfloat while stillpausepeaced
on the open flowershowers of rainbow garden
(goldcrimson blanketflower, lavender scabiosa, silver of wormwood quilted by mints)
during the festival of first fruits

iv.
i know i told you i'd always be here
near the dark moon, a sentinel to peace
but lately my limbs fly loose, whether from encounters
with hurtling metal (never a good moment for the water butterfly)
or just because grief has made them slack, yawning,
unable to shutter to a close, just a long loose rolling meander
of possibilities
mind and muscle slackjawloose
somewhat like the queens who fly the cylon starships
muttering poemwords in an endless cadence
following stars

v.
i know i told you i'd always be present
to this immense incarnational beauty
but just now, after keeping on receiving the tower card,
part of me curls in, defended, unsure
when the next cloud will fall to earth
and also, opening up in a wide expanse
as if the land folded out flat and i'm a river
slacksun days of flattening out
part of me, now that you're dead and passed
over to whatever waits
i think i've learned it's safer to stay open even
when the sky falls, opening out, lazy almost in trusting
defying fear with leisure, river meander a kind of
statement of faith

vi.
past the rats capering near the compost
past the slight overtone of rot in the humid still air of the gloaming
(when what i'd rather include in this poem would be something more suffused
with rose scent or the night scented jasmine, evening primrose, honeysuckle -
if i promise i'll make a scent garden for you in this amazing space of
possibility, will you come and visit, or still stay as far as the ring nebula
finding you like finding a telescope, scanning sky, spotting the miracle
beauty presences through long eye pieces because you've become space itself)

vii.
past all that is known and unknown, all that is clear and all that is fuzzed
fused in mystery, past all that starlight, even the bucket of spilled milk
our bright sun beacons within, a spot of crystal on the velvet
galaxy fabric glittering with spilt glitter bottles
furled and unfurled
past the starts and the stops, the breaths and the emptiness,
the quivering humid night air rushing in from the cloud cloaked west
past all the flavors ever touching our tongues in these long sun days of
every earth spin this body will suck air past all that

see us still, lift float liftfloat, following (being) the water butterfly