after a guilded butterfly ~ coriolanus i.iii

For Denice Hicks, my mentor, my muse, my friend.


January eyes swimming in a dark roast
beneath cerulean skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts dance between her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

Cobblestones and weary bricks
measure a lonely street,
counting patterns,
counting feet.
Awaiting that forgotten man
who comes to sit awhile,
burbon tears slipping through his broken smile,
forget-me-nots reaching for his sole
breezes pushing past his shadow-
fireflies on patrol.

January eyes, an unmasked Muse,
in disguise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts woven through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

Concrete steps and paper bags,
a simple home this lonely street,
quieting his whimpers,
quieting his feet.
He's forgotten life,
no more to dream,
newspaper headlines cushion his sleep,
burbon tears fall silently
down his wrinkled face,
no one to care for him;
his soldiered friends turned to epitaphs,
left alone-
battlefields haunt his shadows,
no more to love,
not even a trace.

January eyes drowning in blackened waters
beneath the ashen skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts mending through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

Stepping stones bound with leather and spines,
covered in dust;
words within,
words to trust.
A fairy queen and lovers' quarrels-
stately kings, crowned with laurels.
A ghostly father,
a son's murmured speech,
a tempest whirling 'neath a nectarine sky,
breezes sifting through the pages-
this Muse awakening moments
within reach.

January eyes, uplifting yesterdays
in humbled reprise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts beating with the rhythm of her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

A pebbled past and wearied soul,
overcome by poetic measures.
He's counting sunsets,
counting treasures.
He longs to remember tomorrow,
pushing past his sorrow.
Sunny tears encircle his crooked smile.
She reaches for his soul,
whispering music past his lighted shadow;
she has played her role.

January eyes peering through a locked door,
beneath the Poet's skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts unlocked with her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.