As I kept blowing the rings of smoke
I saw a butterfly coming right through the circles.
It sat on my nose,
flapped the wings
and became a frozen memory.
I know
someday this body will burn and it will shine like a signal fire for somebody who will want to be naive in his ability to think.
I have seen too many grey valleys of romantic infertility in my sleep…
There will be a mountain outside this window and
the running river will ripple with the nostalgia of wild days,
in that moment of invisible glow
I will stop connecting the dots and jump to the beautiful inconsistency.
For the green rain,
for the primitive blues
and for the inertia of a butterfly.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Imene Idriss.