She Speaks in Butterflies

This is the final version being put in the anthology.


She Speaks in Butterflies

She is soft.
She is soft,
soft copper waves of hair
and curving brows
Soft fabrics,
thin knit cotton and light,
clinging to her gently glowing skin
Her eyes like water, flowing
dreamily downhill.

She speaks in butterflies:
Not butterfly language, or butterfly tongues,
but in little bright-winged insects
flowing, flying from her mouth
Flapping their wings
to push puffs of air
building words
growing poetry.

She speaks in butterflies,
butterflies with finely feathered wings
feathery soft, like she is
dancing and swishing
and pouring, pouring
out of her mouth in shades of
turquoise, gold, violet, red;
Weaving words into wonder
with every flick and swoop
brushing listeners’ ears
with a wisp of their wings

Butterflies twirl
making silent air sing
making empty space shine
Until, at last, the final dance;
Vanishing
in little puffs of light
a whispered ending:
She speaks in butterflies.