Black butterflies crowd the white church with shadows.
Secretly now I speak, who had been plain before
Fear and pain had come and nailed my door.
I am lost in a world of truculent shadows.
I only approach what’s real in whispers,
I am mute before the others.
All that was solid is now thrown shadows.
The black butterflies land on my heart and fold their wings,
My tongue forgets to sing.
Love has webbed my ardent hands with shadows.
My hands, once full of eloquent caresses,
Are folded now in wings of blackness.
Do not follow me into this twilight,
Love, for after such a dusk must come the night.