Chaos Theory

Words.
These are words.
Words,
I do not need silence.
Silence speaks like a sullen child.
A child standing at the edge
of a deep river.
Rivers are like lives,
we flood and drown the plains
of everyone's desires.

I have.

I hold.

I take one step forward.
One step forward,
two steps back,
and turn around,
and turn around twice
to find a new life.
A new life, like the old one.

The old one who sits, smoking,
smoking a pipe like a story.
Story smoke curling off
over his shoulder.
Curling off like smoke into fiction.

Fiction reveals a deeper truth.
A truth like those lies you told me
and I found too easy to believe.
Believe, and God is long dead.

Dead autumn leaves,
leaves so crisp underfoot.
We walked down these roads
only a summer ago,
searching, and rescuing these thoughts
that flicker
like sudden butterfly wings.
Flickering golden bright.

Like last summer's sunlight
flickering through green leaves.

Flickering in the slow breeze,
breeze flickering grass,
grass shifting with your every breath
when you lay
on green summer lawns

only a season ago, waiting,
waiting for something
to turn these moments
into memories.