today
i stepped outside
and there was this infinitesimal butterfly
the smallest i have ever seen
and i slowly got down to her level
and saw what she saw
and was floored:

i am a man of few words today.

i put my finger down before her path
and she crawled onto my finger
so trusting
so confident in my care
and we walked together
for a while
the wind was strong at times
but she clung onto my finger*
my finger that ranks second in the race of distance

and when the time was right
i let her fly away into the wind
and i remained, blessed by gravity, and watched her fly away
to a life equal with the chroma trees
and the whispering wind
and the laughing sunlight

all of these things: i wonder if she enjoys them.
or if she's just the glory of them.
but if she is them, she is not just apart of them.
and i wonder how we can. as humans. not intake. but be.

i don't want to look and say, 'o that's beautiful.'
i want to fly and say, look, 'i'm apart of the beautiful.'
i don't want to sit and watch the planets turn and say,
'look, that's far away.'
i want to be a planet turning and say, 'look
there's so much more to see. cause i am. and i will always be.'

but at least for me,
not today.
but tomorrow's eternity
could be as real as the yesterday's past.

*take to studying the human finger, and its vast intrinsic stupefaction.