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Butterflies
with thanks to Sabrina Odessa
I wonder
where butterflies go
in the rain.
I wonder
if the gentle mist
weighs down
their delicate wings
so they can no longer fly.
Maybe they take
refuge under
a single leaf. Maybe they take
refuge in Buddha.
Maybe they hide
in my stomach, waiting
for anxiety.
I wonder
where gentleness goes
in a storm.
Does it flutter
into hiding? Or does it
lightly caress
my face to remind
me when I forget, as I often do
how vital it is.
I wonder
where butterflies go
in the rain.
Maybe they die
simply, quietly, without
a thought.
c. Ken Siegmann 1996 siegmann@best.com
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"There is no difference
between
a Buddha
and an
ordinary person"
-- Jack Kerouac