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Transformations

The wisp of a moment

feathery, floating,

taken up, sent aloft

carried in the breeze

 

of the moon.

It is homeless

 

ownerless

 

no one possesses it

we make it our own, we think

but each breath must escape us

 

so it travels

a spiritual butterfly.

 

With a purpose it knows

its aim to fulfill

it samples the nectar of one heart

 

then another

 

then wings spread again

and moonbreeze lifts

 

and it's gone.

 

The hosts of its visits

savor the rubbing-off of its dust

and memories measure

the gentle weight

of its spirit.

 

We are more than we were

its breath becomes ours

our exhalations become one

and together form the moonbreeze

for its progeny.