The space that should be packed with her
is jammed with things that are not of her.
The time that should be flowing with her flapping
is running with birds that don’t have her fluttering.
A well that’s being overflowed with sea water
would be called an empty well.
The water is not the water
that butterflies other than her can’t drink, though.
The flower, like this
Is searching for her smile in the empty space;
Is searching for her signs in the empty time.
Dreaming a dream that she is lifting her veil up,
a flower that should become a play butterfly;
finally understands that space and time are the same thing.