We're quite often asked directions
how to get to so-and-so
and we seldom take exception,
tell the stranger what we know
till they sever the connection,
judge the likelihood, and go.
Do they make their assignation
with a loved one? Do we care?
Do they meet assassination
in some ambush halfway there?
If we know the destination
a rough bearing's all we'll share.
Fooled by our thermostat and light
a butterfly lands on the wall
just by our headboard, preens for night
and flaunts its colours, proud yet small.
I watch and want to clutch it tight
but that won't do at all.
We sleep. Next morning snows swirl round
like snipped, white, pestilential string
and I find cold upon the ground
this insubstantial thing
which left its night-time perch and found
no summer, just false-spring.
Kevin Saving © 2008