Redemption

History will not mark
my body with a dry flower petal
amongst the pages of time.

Life will not decimate me
or leave it for the wind to
carry me like dust.

Sorrow will not abide by my
sacred rules to suffuse inside
like salt in the ocean.

And my hoarse voice will not seek
secret passages to your happy song.

In every fleeting moment that passes,
I am as much past or present,
as your butterfly-memory would permit.

I belong as much to your errant
heart as to solitude's brothel.

I seek no one.
Not even sorrow tonight.