“How does one become a butterfly? she asked. You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar” – Anonymous

Two wings and all the soft wisdoms

needed to weave eternal grace and

every blooming tranquility. How true

and how precious the butterfly: to

place those kisses on our open palms.

Silken bodies in their immortality,

stolen from the dreams we hand

them, to deliver to the fairies and

pixies. Our curious couriers, so

quaint in their regal spring flights.

In the quiet moments. The rising

mornings. Their silhouettes dance

on the window blinds. I trace their

journeys in notebooks and canvas,

they are truly all we will ever need:

butterfly kisses,

on our open palms.