"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

butterflies and moths display their dust proudly and without apology
each speck of the stuff adds new facets of light and color
new dimensions of growth and repose
unlike the snail, these creatures do not carry their homes on their backs,
but rather their stories
a tear in the left wing in memory of rebirthing,
a blur of deep red for all the times that they bled,
and a streak of blue for each time they stayed true
such a short lifespan for a creature that reminds us humans
of the fragility, beauty, and fleeting nature of the life we are given
wearing scars like blue ribbons
and silently departing before we ever get the chance
to appreciate them and their elegant dance