lying in bed this morning
my pulse taps out
an S-O-S
on my wrist
a tiny butterfly beats its wings
under skin, soft and clay
it catches my stare
tries to hide, a little shy
freestyles with syncopated rhythm
then settles back, vigilant. it’s going to wait
for nightfall to make its escape. a heart
doesn’t run on clockwork
beats – it’s jazzy with no musical score