Wine Bar

I sit across from you
hearing your words
feeling something else old
slide beneath, rustling
in the bushes, and the old,
old impulse to try to fix
what can’t be rises in me,
I push it away, blue-gold threads
of energy tangled up between,
a useless thing, because of course
you are not broken, not in need
of any fixing, just momentarily
paused, contemplating your life
the butterfly perched briefly,
a bird in mid-flight;
leaves moving in the wind,
all things are just a ripple;
but if you would allow it,
friend I love, I would enclose you
and make a space where
for a flight’s-time, for the length
of the wind’s movement,
you could be at peace.