In The Footpath Of A Butterfly Poem by gregory collins

I think we're in the footpath of a butterfly,
so we had better move
and further lift the glasses to our mouths age after age.

because falling from the branches of your necklace
requires great courage.

it requires the night hung aloft,
to know its own path.
the stars rocking the loving seas under your feet,
and the nightfall behind each mirror high and more high.

celebrating the impassable paths in the infinite -
celebrating the silence that finds a tongue without a sound -
celebrating the memory that sheds its petals and is forgotten now.

Forgotten like yesterday bicycling across soft showers of starry grind;
standing on my hope without knowing it.