Butterfly Dream

Cupped in my hands, I hold
A butterfly dream.
Wings so small and painted,
A beautiful brush
of feathers and scales;
It contains the soul
Of deepest need.
I hold it here, for
That brief moment
When time meets space
And space is filled
With His careful wisdom.
A delicate bridge to my freedom.

I hold it here,
My drowning fear,
My crushing hope,
My future happiness rests
On the wings of this
Too mortal creature.
She may be dead by sunset,
But she deserves this chance.
And so my hands fold back;
From sheltering shield,
To stepping stone.
Looking into your eyes
For my salvation,
I feel the brush of wings
As she flies away.

-Zoe Richardson