Butterfly

Old news does not diminish
down the years, across the miles
but kicks like a dirty fighter
low, in the stomach

Knowing only the when and where
you could only guess...the heat-weary evening
the weekend desolation
of a country crossing

An insistant ticking only he could hear

The creak and clank of the barriers
in their finality
somewhere down the line...in a blink upon you
a rage of noise and blurred hard-dark metal 
slammed
out of it's fierce schedule

After
the world begins again
to still itself 
as a pond after the pebble

Somewhere in the world
a butterfly closes it wings
if you believe it