POLLUTING

a bearded butterfly flows through the night, in the
singing fog she sighs with a mouth wide open, the air
hardly forced out with her throat, elongated and shaking 
is she crying? with every drop her beard grows, the age, 
poured through centuries like an hour glass
it's almost running low now, the sand shivers as she gags
tossing in the deep of her voice, half grainy, half sad
i stood on the rim of her mouth where i jumped and
slid off her beard while listening to the sound of water
and its
falls