“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:
on our open palms.