October 27, 2009

  • To Hold Hope

    A stream bubbling through the desert;
    Just a breath of hot air and it vanishes into the sand.

    One kiss to heat the heart to flames,
    Yet the body is mostly water.

    To hold so delicate a golden butterfly, this fragile monarch.
    The hand that opens loses and the hand that closes crushes.

    I'm given boots to walk the tightrope.
    Narrow is the string, but I don't have far to fall.