The Woman in search of kindness, steps into the river
Where currents flow and rocks block thoughts.
Ideas, connected and tethered to the stars,
Spread from the breast of Hera: milky and sweet, tempting the Butterfly
Through the door and out the window,
To the river, rushing; and on the shores, no sight of a single sandbag.

Many thoughts, ideas, and feelings – too many to block with a single sandbag:
They swirl and foam, bubbling around the rocks in the river.
From the foam a Butterfly, wet from birth, follows the sent of stability though a window.
Safety here, safe from foam, and fishes and the unproductive thoughts
In through the window sit awhile, stay awhile, live awhile.  Don’t leave, Butterfly.
There is nothing in the sky but the stars.

Stirring, she wakes; daylight assaults her, as she looks for the stars
They are there, cannot see them in the daylight, they are blocked by the sandbag
Sometimes it is so huge, that it threatens the sunlight, Butterfly
Flies over endless terrain searching for the river

Fatigue brings her home; there is comfort in her thoughts
The musings and imaginings keep her company as she looks out the window

Wrapped in her thoughts, she fends off loneliness, but they leave, fly out the window
Disappear in the sky turning into stars
The Woman makes new ones, constructed, crafted new imaginings /thoughts
More rocks and blocks, a bigger sandbag
Distractions to make her forget the river
Staring out the window, she sees another Butterfly

Poised on the ledge she cries out to the Butterfly
“Come back, sit, stay, live” she reaches, feet planted on the edge of the window
The clouds make a river

New Butterfly floats on by on, weaving through the stars
The Woman now desperate throws her biggest sandbag
Hoping to share all her imaginings, musings, thoughts

The woman screams her thoughts
But all he sees is a moth, mute, and brown, not a Butterfly at all, just a moth,
the woman builds another, then another, then another sandbag
More and more to keep her company by the window
Hard to see past the mountain of sandbags at the window, no more stars
The door has disappeared; the woman remembers the river
In through the window trapped by the sandbag
She remembers stars, the milk, the Butterfly
No longer searching for the river she makes her own kindness, and eats all her thoughts

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After Last Night: A study in Form by Mericia Palma