Written in June 2010

On my walk with you to Golgotha

I nearly crushed a broken butterfly,

and my soul shattered as her body had.

You watched her life; you marked her flights;

you sighed the moment she fell.

I walked with you to die with you--

how could I leaver her alone, unremembered

when we were the dying ones too?

I passed crowds on the way to Golgotha

and afraid they would not treasure her as I did,

I clasped my fingers to shield.

When their voices had faded,

I shook as a whisper flicked on my palm.

In shock, my fingers flew open and the butterfly fell.

Not dead, but warmed by my hand,

she opened her wings, stretched fragile legs,

and finally caught my eye.

All is a dream on the way to Golgotha,

but I remember, O Word, that you squeezed my hand,

turned my face to yours,

and whispered the word, "Promise."