So does love come and go,
all on its own?
Or are we able to have some control,
Some way of hanging on?
Isn't that what we try to do,
Convinced that it's not wrong?

So should I let love be
Like a butterfly
That rests on my hand?
Tempted to blow
soft breath upon its wings
As a sign of what I feel,
Yet scared for fear
That that soft breath
like a hurricane
on peacock coloured wings
will blow love off again?

Or should I submit
To love's greater strength?
Let myself be blown away
With gratitude,
wind fair or foul?
Let myself be
Puppet and prince
No counting or holding
Or owning or wanting,
No longing or trying
To do anything?

If able to witness
Do I see
The lightness,
the continual brightness
of being in this space.
Clear of expectation or want,
Just appreciation for every moment
I am blessed
with this vision
of love resting
on my hand?

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