by Barb St. Aubrey
(Austin Texas)
Her eyes, (tutelary spirits)
Guard drifting sky webs,
Drink mist drops of memory.
Her threaded face ebbs
Inward; pale lips mime
The speaking, her reality,
The murmurs of breathed
Eulogies that generously
Float while she sits erect
Pretending to reflect
Their ache, as her worried
Heart hunts a lost butterfly.
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