Absence

When you were born

arriving like an arrow amongst arrows

many organisms, geological ages,

cities, books and ideas passed

and now live on planets of prior Earths.

A butterfly lives in a room for centuries.

The shock felt by running into a friend

felt by a Burgher now is the form

of exchange for intercontinental economies.

Death and love scurry through blouses

and pockets where ungraspable air

would do here. Precipitation and scorch

are what musical instruments bring

to ears of seasons and joy is the flicker

of night dotted through perennial day.

The future comes like such a born arrow

though I'm confounded to which reserved

planet it arrives from. As some may wish

to be ancient butterflies living in rooms

wish for longevity and the reassembly

of all shapes in the flick of a risen bedsheet.