Jim Boone (March 24,1937)

In the garden of seasoned contentment
You light on my outstretched arms
And bless the reach and movement
Of the harpist mesmerizing runs

When reality turns on you harshly
You fly to the balm of my loving hands
And ignite my butterfly senses
With firm and lyrical whispers of intent

We go to the oceans shore, into the surf
Where we walk and talk of important things
What makes our garden grow, a landscape
Of attraction, an Eden of the soul and Spirit

Mr. Butterfly, fly to my flowering bed
Taste the nectar of lips and skin
Watch out for the net I thought I’d discarded
Embrace the awakening buds of Springtime pasts
Step out of your cocoon and into my life
Soar in the beauty of imagination and repose

I still want you, still need you, sunlight each
Morning announces how much I love your touch.

2010
for George Cluney, the 'Mr. Butterfly of 'The American'
and for Me, the 'Mr. Butterfly' of my long and hasty life.