“If you kill a butterfly, you kill a witch.”
Old Serbian Proverb

The buckeye falls in darkness
long before yearning shoots up
leafy tufts of green until trust
gentles our hurried hearts

As cottonwoods rustle through
the ravine. From dim stirrings,
surprised by rapture, eye pods
burst; red flesh swells.

Blue rivers reflect the silver moon
whose hour glass sees lovers
unfurl their crescent wings.