Where does a butterfly go when it sleeps?
What thoughts fill a willow tree’s head when it weeps?
How brightly the sun shines ahead of the moon;
how fast the day’s over, how night falls so soon.
How often the shadows of time touch each day;
strung like tripwires we catch when we’re looking away.
Now a flutter of wings or the twitch of a leaf
are a trickle above but a torrent beneath.