thistle

wind among the trees.

Or is it trees among the wind?

The branches that dance and sing, once, twice, then

interim.

My mind yearns for long-lost places, 

my eyes full of long-lost faces that shimmer, 

spangled and mangled with sorrow,

with salt,

with butterflies' fins - cleaving and flashing in the air, silver & red in despair..

but if you look closely there,

the holes left like sunshine puddled in midair - what will you find when you look inside?

Who will you find?

When you look inside, who do you find?