As the night begins to rest its head,
I hope to unfold with it stories.
Stories that are caught somewhere with the trees shadows and the birds silence.
And with it somewhere,
Parts of me.
Like the life of a monarch stuck
In a trucks grill.
I can pull it out and know
That it is still colorful in its loss.
Maybe it’s caught somewhere between dreams and desires.
That maybe it’s still fluttering it’s wings.
Still just out of reach.
Of life in jars,
Dancing on flowers, lips.