Butterflies dance through the air,
their silhouettes cast upon drawn curtains
among the shadows of ivy hanging down.
I awake in the morning and watch for them,
imagining the colors of their wings
in the shadows of indiscriminate grey.
If I open the curtains I will lose
them in the summer sun
that shines so brightly through
eastward-facing windows -
their hues carry with them too powerful a light,
and I would be forced to look away.
So I remain here in half-darkness,
lying back to watch the shadows play.
I do not need to see their colors -
I always dream in black and white.