Light sharpens and points, flattens and scours
Give me dim night and the hope of substance
Yet shone upon is the sad response
Of scattered white paper
And bare blue felt
Scornful and empty
So, then
I should pin this butterfly to the wall
And admire its colours
I would know them then, and remember
And regret the shades I had hoped to see
Thick hair and hazel eyes
Lips full, so, I hoped, they spoke for me
Skin smooth and touch warm
Bones and blood, whispered soul
A fierce heart
Broken and free.