Butterfly

Some would say her
emergence mirrors
our beginnings

Damp wings gently
fluttering to dry
before taking flight

But I would argue her
flight more closely
mirrors our ending

For she has already
journeyed from leaf to
twig, across blades of grass

Over terrain, smooth and
rough, picking up bits
of life all along the way

Eventually wrapping
herself in so many layers
no room remains for living

Only room for reflection-
Like that required for
our final transformation

Leaving behind the shell
that faithfully held us
to the end of our journey

When our spirit, like the
newly flown butterfly,
experiences true freedom