6: 40:  Love's Cocoon

Excerpt 40 from Journal 6, 'Becoming My True Love'
  - From 'Journals To My True Love, Part 2'

My Love, how can we live on when our words are but
  wings of a butterfly in midair, never still...
In the cocoon where we were formed, were the words
  the fibres of our structure?
Is the story all we were, all we are?
Do they seek to refold and return to a wordless condition,
  is there no end to their corrective fluttering and attempting
  of a weightless glide above confusion and unknowns?
Does the butterfly miss the peace of the cocoon?
Does it tire of the solitary search for each momentary
  rest on a temporary, windblown stalk?
Can Winter teach us the way home to our great return?
Am I the butterfly, you the cocoon?
The great vision and perspective of flight surely recalls
  the lack thereof in great clarity and hindsight, have
  we both rose to these heights albeit in alternation
  of each other?
How can we know to love each other if we are one and
  the same in experience...
How can a butterfly be both at rest and aloft, does it afford
  or get to chose this?
At its highest flight, does it at once relive its cocooning in
  that instant?
Did you, My Love, relive my embrace at your most
  turbulent moment?
Was your brightest summer a reliving of your darkest winter?
Did I flutter your heart in the deepest freeze?
In your frozen state, do my words flutter you now?
Do I breathe life into you even as you lie dormant?
My Love, be the wind my wings rise on, be these words
  which propel me to rise...
Life through my words in each windblown meandering
  of my verses and each vibrant sustenant branch of
  flowering poetics...
The lowly grub can become a thing of magnificence with
  only passage of time and endurance...
And my humble words can lift your spirit to a rebirth of
  flight in purpose and significance...
We, in flight together are that purpose...