Did you lose your song?

Where did you lose your song little bird?
I never hear you anymore.
The sun rises quiet and alone.

Was it in writhing flesh
lost in strange bodies,
cold touch and whiskey breath?

Where did you lose your long little bird?
I thought I heard you this morning,
but it was the wind chilling my bones.

Was it in cutting words
reflected in the mirror,
violent hunger and sweat?

Don’t you know?
The mountains have nothing to echo,
they are just carbon and voiceless stories.

Don’t you know?
The moon has stopped chasing the sun.
There is no melody to bring the morning.

Butterflies Again

I’m feeling butterflies again
I was sure that winter had frozen them all –
stopped every last wing from fluttering.

Maybe his eyes thawed them.
“What! What could you possibly see here?”
But I couldn’t make him look away.

Or maybe it was the way he didn’t touch me, at least not at first.
He leaned in (inhale) and pulled back (exhale) with my breath –
And reached for my scars instead of my display.

He shared space with me.
On mountaintops and the edges of black seas.
Tangled on couches and rental car back seats.

And maybe I wasn’t ready.
And maybe I was broken.
But the butterflies have awoken –
there is a wildfire burning in my veins
consuming my past and turning her to ash.