I am chasing butterflies,

Prayers that got away from me and flew.

How embarrassing that you would see them!

How nude I feel to see my naked dreams!

Unclothed they are,

And unheralded!

How directionless they seem,

Without a single goal,

And yet, they fly from Canada to Muscle Shoals.

Has anyone ever seen a sensible butterfly? 

A logical prayer?

But so wholesome are these loving entreaties,

Without makeup,

Without hairstyle.

The pentecost, 

The fiery tongues,

The gorgeous flames whose embers rise,

My heart has sent these hopes for love on them,

And packed on the backs of butterflies.

-jenn