Our Lady of the Time Warp

She is a butterfly. Her wings — red, orange, gold silk.
They flutter. She stutters. Ribbons stretch behind her
parsing her into quadrants, time zones, and their ilk.
Wind gusts silk strips into arcs & days, each a blur
drifting into see-you-laters and lullabies,
slipping through time like light dissolving into crumbs.
She was a butterfly, brown against the blue skies
with eyes that open to day, and close when night comes.
Her time is out of line with mine, or mine with hers,
and when we sing our wings don’t touch, but stretch, our tones
shifting scale from perfect to proper. She prefers
the wonders that silence shows — sidereal koans.
Time means nothing, never will again. She will be
a butterfly, out of step and waiting for we.


2 responses to “Our Lady of the Time Warp

  1. Have trouble not thinking of the Rocky Horror Picture Show – some of the choreography fits well with the words. The synching (or lack of it) fits some of the mistaken love scenes (almost like Midsummer Night’s Dream)

    • I actually used snippets of some of the lines from Rocky Horror. I also dug through a lot or research and glossaries on time research. So, a bit of a mashup. 😉

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