GIFT OF THE BUTTERFLIES
All summer
my fears slowly faded
as I lay on the soft grasses,
watching the orange and blue butterflies
cavort, naked in the wind.
In a blaze of saffron and velvet blue
they loop around trees
dithering from flower to flower,
rising and falling
without fear or want,
calm one moment,
excited the next,
aimless in a way,
purposeful all the same.
Here, in this place of
small wild things,
my heart is quieted.
I live in drift.
For a time, I float nonchalantly
above this cold and difficult world.