Butterflies - Brief Article - Poem

Commonweal, Sept 8, 2000 by Ethan Gilsdorf

   Enough with these ideas
   about a heart holding love.
   That dumb, stumbling muscle
   knows nothing. In the stomach,
   butterflies churn and clarify love.
   Their iridescent wings
   beat along the esophagus,
   dusting the lungs, flustering
   the larynx so no one can speak.
   Each exhale propels wing dust
   into the air between lovers,
   and in fresh sun the butterfly dust
   identifies and defines
   the atmosphere between them.
   Love eats air, not blood. Down
   with the thudding machine.
   That heart catches nothing.
   The lung and gut hunt love.