A Chrysalis Heart

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Grief does not creep up on you

like a stealthy infant 

on the wings of palms and knees 

It comes at you like 

a sudden attack on the serengeti

or a full blast hose on a peaceful protest

which exiles you to the dreamscape of

The Great Somewhere Else

Where light cannot breathe

Music cannot see

And fear spreads like weeds

In a flower bed that can no longer recall 

The hospitality of the wind 

Until

perhaps in a year 

or so

once the final step has been taken 

You emerge with older eyes 

And a chrysalis heart

Whose wounds 

have grown membranes

as fine as fairy wings

which will tear

however briefly

whenever we feel the presence 

of the lost

who are as impossible to hold

as a butterfly.





















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