Canyons and Butterflies

Long now have I considered the presence of absence
In canyons…majestic by what is not,
Stunning in what is gone.
And yet, talk and rail and howl, Charissa…
Canyons answer not back, or if they
Do they speak only echoes.
Canyons have changed me, but not I them,
Not I…puny, and wratihlike to their Absent Presence.
Fool! Stop explaining!
Stop handing out Rosetta Stones
To entities which do not care to read
But rather would gather voices and then
Speak echoes.

But then, in the shimmering sunlight,
Flitting by, white gossamer
Butterfly bumbling, bouncing
Break dancing in mid air
Heedless of the yawning gulf
Simply floats over the precipice
And is…itself, singing in flight
Speaking by being
Uncaring who hears, sees or knows
And LAUGHING at the canyon-like boasts of
The presence of what isn’t there being best,
Better than the absence of what is there.
Canyons and butterflies…
My polarity extremes.

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