thistles in the valley ~
honey bee throne and my voice is
trapped in the sweetness.

point me, directions are impossible
to discern, maps printed on whispers,
jotted on my sweaty palm,
wrapped in a windy day.

you are my double,
                                double rainbow.

i am the meme, that makes no sense.

the butterfly has been cut out of my throat.

i lost it,

i lost it because,
until the very end,

i was too afraid to use it.

so now,

i am
               butterfly ghost.

i am the cocoon dreaming.

full moon behind the black cloud night.

dancing with spiders on the back porch,
the screen torn by cat claw.
hushed, back-bend in the crescendo of
piano note and off-rhyme.

it will be a long time before the next
new song.

there are too many old tunes that cry out
to be remembered.

remember.

the day is hot, burning my hair to a color
beyond blond, beyond white.
the grass, a sea of emerald,
sheltering toads, red clover,
broken glass and prickly pears.

a brown, potato river.
runs beneath the scene.
scenting the air with earth
creating
my non-stop, off-beat sensibility.

bare feet, skipping and dancing,
slipping into the long-ago time.

she comes out, a goddess,
brown braids, growing down
and down again.

only she can turn the rusty, red spigot.
only she can make the rain fall on a blue
sky day.  laughing, throwing tan arms
into the air, we circle round and round.

we are thankful for the real, pretend rain.

we open our mouths and drink in the dream.