1. The sun The butterfly pressing its wings open and closed has put more breath in the hour, has saved without lips what we couldn’t get close to, a summer day, floating from the pain. This was me free and also captured in that glass moment, needing more air, needing that sky. The clouds sink into each other on blue beds that creak with a little thunder. This was me holding light and dreaming of home, never landing on a safe hand. 2. Up The butterfly eases by, the beautiful pulling away with its markings that they left like a kiss mark on a neck. This was me when the pain was heavy enough to not blow away, breathing life back into the dead air. The eye lids flutter naked as the wings, tracing with a finger the loops of the flight, where you must imagine a scissors cutting one single string, cutting and cutting, and de-programming, short, short, long, a million different pieces go together again. 3. Waterway The sex is a driving force through the sails of these poems that never go...