Butterflies

I am paralyzed

by her black black sewing

stitching me carefully in a case of

artificial sunlight and sodium.

Needles pierce me.

I used to fly.

I used to breathe.

Now I am hollow

and my blood flows somewhere else,

in a distant desert with babies

floating down my ruby stream in baskets.

See how butterflies here bring Dawn,

a wondrously big woman with her hands on her hips?