My thoughts have been with you as you have reflected deeply and in many different ways on Memorial Day. My thanks for your tireless expressions of lament and empathy which have so touched my heart. Personally, I struggle to get my head round the extent of the pain and courage, the nobility and grace of all those who don a uniform in the name of their country and on behalf of the people they seek to serve. May God be with them and with all those they leave behind.

... Now this is a funny thing: an exercise piece in which a spontaneous poetic rendering had to be "written verbatim, as heard". In this case, my subject was Chinese - perhaps you can hear something of that in the voice of this prose?

RUN, BUTTERFLY, RUN


I wandered out onto the green grass, the green-green grass, and saw a yellow butterfly among the beautiful rainbow flowers. It looked so light, so free, and the flowers seemed to enjoy the butterfly’s sweet touch, like a kiss.

But the yellow butterfly might be afraid of something, like a bee – a bee with its buzz, bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. That buzz, like sparky things flying out. The butterfly might want to avoid the sparky things that frighten it. It might want to find another direction and run, run away.

The rainbow flowers understand that the butterfly might be afraid, afraid of the spark. They want to make it understand, to make it know that they don’t want to hurt the butterfly. That they mean it no harm. That they want to be friends.

They feel from the butterfly’s kiss that really, it is afraid of the sparky things within its own self. There is something in the butterfly that is electric; something fiery that burns.

Run, butterfly, run. The flowers want you to go now. Run from the fire and find peace. The rainbows wish it.