When its grey outside,
and midday seems like dusk,
vibrant images settle in my lap,
floating
like fall leaves that have outlived their stay.
Comfort creeps softly, as she whispers windy hymns
welcoming a silent void to feel warm currents again.
Vivid pulses,
too transparent to grasp.
Brilliant butterfly,
heavenly body finding death too fast.
Can’t just stick me in your pocket, or stuff me in a safe, and lock it.
Only these memories, do you own,
and even with time
those fade.
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