Come with me to this place
I visit often, hidden behind an eyelash;
where it is Easter all the time and
rebirth is not a sometime thing; where
gods cavort in joyous abandon.
Come, we dance. . . .
Today the world stood still. In the
bright afternoon sun I saw a butterfly
dart into a spider's web woven between
the power lines and lift it up and carry
it with him.
In the silence I heard the question.
How heavy is a spider's web on a butterfly's wing?
Since everything is balanced,
the question is proportional.
A friend said to me, 'only you had eyes to see it.'
Does the world stand still for you? Ever?