It longs for an uplifting wind,

A gust of air to make sails from wings.


It journeys along invisible rails.

A flame that flickers at the edge of the world. 


On a rotting windowsill it feeds on dust mites,

And remembers its birth.


Transformation is wonder in the child's mind.

We make butterfly prints, 

And play gods with spirals and swirls.


Butterflies fight to escape the edges of their paper worlds.