she is a butterfly. her life is about the dance,
a flitting of places and thoughts and feelings.
she is never in one place longer than an exhale,
except when she finds my open palm.
my palm is always open. it is more reliable
than anything she finds in her flitting day.
when she lands, she rests and after wards
wishes for ears on the palm. so ears grow.
she talks of her day spent flitting, high and low,
and wishes for a mouth to appear on the palm.
a mouth appears and words come out in a way
to effect a safeness she loves and can sleep by.
any longer spent, she would soon wish for more parts
to grow and appear. her next wish is for strong arms
and back muscles and glutes and genitalia
so she may continue flitting in a childbearing way.
she holds this wish in check with fluttering.
she cannot see her future beyond the palm
and grows restless and angry, flying out to meet the beyond.
if she survives, she will return again but only to yearn.