Butterfly hearts





Like a butterfly in a storm,

A house founded on sand,


Our hearts are open

To destruction.


We are wind-tossed creatures.


As constant as a single ocean wave.




A single shift,





And we spin, flailing,

Out of control.


Our best heart

Carved by change and fear

To be our worst heart.


A villain is a hero with nothing to hold but fear.



Where do we stand when the ground shifts?


Where is our refuge when the storm rages?


For me?


On the rock.


In the heart of the master of storms.






To the next

To the next

To the next.



Time cascades,


An endless waterfall of moments

Poured out.


An offering of eternity

poured out on me,

from me.


I ride through the ticks

Of creation,


Sliding through the tocks

of existence


for an endless single moment,

The eternal audience,

The singular frozen moment of the dance.



Time is a word.

Each moment is a word.

A word is a boundaried crystallization of the whole of a thing.



I can’t see the river.


I can only see that part of the river that sweeps me on.


On to the next.

On to the next.