No Butterflies In The Fall Poem by Cheryl Renaud

what happened here
is a prayer unheard destination
once blue, born of whispers
a sigh between blades of grass
up to the brim, a glass drunk with tears
the canticle greets the cold sun
and docks your harbor like the Hesperus
in the warehouse of your heart
hanging wall paintings
real faces sitting on the shelf
I want to listen to my fingers
drip over the window
hoping for a reply without words
riddling like the night,
as unfinished musical composition.
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(27 September 2001,
distilling pestilence,9-11)