There’s ancient quiet in this room

Butterflies like folded books
Line the shelves and desks and chairs
In brown monastic robes

I stumble in with heaviness

The sound of me reflects so sharp
And ripples through the resting beasts
Worrying them from sleep

With every step they peel away

Their coats explode with hidden light
That force apart the dust and grey
And turn to gem-flakes on a breeze

I watch their colours dance for me

They ring around my thinking head
And will not stop until the time
I’m still or simply gone