solace

Where to find the soft cushions
of solace?
Not in the wintry days that started
so confidently with untimely buds forming
and now the spring frozen worlds.
I wanted butterflies

but the sun still is paler than the moon
and fear arises of not growing wings.
Things arrive barefoot. I freed
my bed from being my bed and my table
that promised to wait as the four walls
of my childhood.

I let them go when I crossed borders
and fled to the smallness, the eternity
of moss, its softness, to lie upon
as when I was little, and feel
for a hand, a door, some touch, some hope.