subtext

The constant flurry of distraction

blinds me into a belief that matters

only because it lends a structure

I may cower within as lightning

ignites the sky with fear.

Thunder’s low foundational grumbles,

umbrellaed  beneath the clipped shouts

and sudden claps of laughter, compel

me to burrow deeper into the cave,

and paint furtively across her walls.

There, I become my metaphor at last;

my meaning speaks a new tongue

lost in renewal’s translation,

like the pupae to the butterfly.