When you were born
arriving like an arrow amongst arrows
many organisms, geological ages,
cities, books and ideas passed
and now live on planets of prior Earths.
A butterfly lives in a room for centuries.
The shock felt by running into a friend
felt by a Burgher now is the form
of exchange for intercontinental economies.
Death and love scurry through blouses
and pockets where ungraspable air
would do here. Precipitation and scorch
are what musical instruments bring
to ears of seasons and joy is the flicker
of night dotted through perennial day.
The future comes like such a born arrow
though I’m confounded to which reserved
planet it arrives from. As some may wish
to be ancient butterflies living in rooms
wish for longevity and the reassembly
of all shapes in the flick of a risen bedsheet.
Ariel Riveros Pavez 
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