The Butterfly in the Ice

Is sound the only sense immutable?

Anything organic is sure to rot eventually

making sight, taste, touch and smell

as transitory as the baby finger of the clock

look what happens to glass left in the moody tide

sharp edges buffered to smooth paper weights

the fiber optics to record your voice

frozen notes in time

Beethoven’s 9th

like a breeze of butterflies caught in the ice

and if I hit rewind then play the ice will melt

and the butterflies will fall to the floor

yet

if we close our eyes and hold our breath

and listen to what we once said

we will fly forever.

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4 thoughts on “The Butterfly in the Ice

    1. cottonbombs Post author

      Thank you! I am always aiming baseballs at the fragile glass that surrounds us. I wish I had the arm of Aroldis Chapman, but I do the best as a wily junk baller who occasionally throws heat.

      Reply

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