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    I remember      a whirlwind of butterflies  
      painted      the   sky   with  wings,     
                                                
    I remember      a   lady                    
                        singing a     hymn      
           in the alley.                        
                        Some          hard time 
           let her go.                          
                                                
    I remember     poems and songs              
              among               friends.      
A      rhythm                            skipped
 as  if       I     were         dreaming       
a                       scratched        record.
Could it      ever  be           real     enough
          to              dream      again?     
                                                
          twisting a sad rag of hymns           
 to  swing           some            wings      
            across    the       moon            
                  into   eclipse                
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