Sunday, June 01, 2008

The aftermath of a spell of writer's block

Your lips flutter
like red wings
of a butterfly
from word to word.

I gasp and run
in a desperate bid
to pluck the flowers
you perched on
and gather them all
into the vase of silence.

But unawares I pin down
the coordinates on the mindscape
making it yet another plot
of buds yet to bloom
and seeds still to germinate,
while you vanished…

Or is it you
divided into further fullness
breathing life into the caterpillars
clinging to the buds.