BLOOD STREAM OF HOPE
Caregivers let in a butterfly, it flew
into my room. I was going to kill it
as I thought it a moth in dark
I can’t get the flying fuckers out
Wasps, bees, flies etc.…
It landed on my bed, swooned
By its beauty. I
held its fragile
spore like wings between
my finger/thumb, looks like
a winged mandala, diagram
of my soul so fragile you could
blow it away. It blew me away,
I watched it fly away a moth like
Silhouette in dark. By laptop light
It was a bomb blast of color.
A mosquito bit me last week
Flying fucker and filled my blood
stream with false hope. For two
days I thought me better, speech
Stronger, found natural flow
Of poetry, was going to set
Up zoom to read, claw to hand.
The bite backfired, my wounds
Are red raw and bleeding.
I dreamt I was a butterfly like
I did when inward hospital
Recovery twenty years ago.
Fluttering through my mind
Barely being in humankind.
I sat by a corridor window
Watching nature in it flew
while all the other brain in-
jury patients watched T.V.
Did I dream the butterfly
Or did the butterfly dream
Me?
Butterfly flutter by
Nature opens up
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The door and drifts
Like time itself.
Writ when I woke
From stroke.
