One of my metaphors has come to life.
Never before have I seen
a human being and a butterfly
occupying the same physical body
as you, bouncing from distraction to distraction,
drawing out the sweet nectars of a drunken fantasy
while reducing me to a chaser
with only my bare hands to catch you.
But butterfly flight is ill equipped for human problems.
So determined to learn your own garden,
you fail to notice the scarcity of rain
that threatens to take it all away.
Here, my words from previous poems
come back as a heartbreaking message to myself.
The hero, outmatched by erratic whimsy
has never been destined to catch the butterfly.
Still, I will continue to follow you
believing wilted flowers will someday fail you,
may sometimes try to creep closer
in hopeful attempts at guiding misdirection,
always paying attention to know that someone is.
Meanwhile, I’ll pass time weaving a net
should a day come you remember you are human
and in need of a friend to break your fall.