I remember you telling me
you met him
in a coffee shop
You went to get a drink
and thought it’d be nice
to see if he wanted one too
I simply can’t fathom
What luck like that
Must feel like
To be sitting; working
And be unintentionally chosen
By the rarest of butterflies
You tell me this
As we navigate broken rock
Near thundering falls
Where missing a step
Could mean broken bone
Or at least red cheeks
But I don’t miss
Not a beat; not a step
Not a single strain in thought
I’ve become numb
To this sort of pain
Luck stuck in reverse
I glance forward
You settle your wings
On a flower I’d never have seen
I glance back
Sun, river, flowers—this butterfly
Maybe luck is made?
Our path together ends
You float to bench nearby
And stop me from walking away
I smile; remember the coffee shop
And decide to say it anyway
Let’s do it again sometime
Knowing damn well
This butterfly
Is getting away
P.s. You can read the other poems I sometimes write here.