Outside, such a fuss.
A thousand butterflies
each one a solitary spring.
As for me, the mirror
I stare into – shows the flowers
of the plum rain.
Growing in intricate patterns
and free to wander.
I keep looking…..
and I see we are two.
Am I her’s
or is she mine?
It no longer matters,
we are away from here.
And belong in this new time