It is my brother's birthday. The monarch butterfly which my mother discovered as an egg on a milkweed leaf last week and tenderly brought inside to be sheltered from hungry birds and fed on fresh-picked milkweed eclosed and flew free this afternoon, she hopes to join its kindred in migration; she showed me pictures of the transparent empty chrysalis, the wings like black and gold stained glass. My physical situation which had been cautiously mending has rather abruptly cratered. And Toni Morrison died. I go back and forth between feeling philosophical about the constant changing of the universe and thinking that a small amount of stability really wouldn't hurt anyone.
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- 1: The water's depths can't kill me yet
- 2: You flipped the script and you shot the plot
- 3: Once you know it's a dream, it can't hurt
- 4: And the birds flew right by and the earth made them sing
- 5: Can you see me? I'm waiting for the right time
- 6: There's nothing here but echoes
- 7: If I'm hoping, then I'm hoping for the frost
- 8: There's no boat to take me where all the stars go to cross the water
- 9: All the ghosts, some old, some new
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