BUTTERFLIES

There are butterflies in my stomach.

I would net them, keep them there if I could.

 I like the way they arrive,

 unexpectedly, signing life with a flourish.

They give it nervous meaning,

take the strife out of the trouble,

duck, dive and dodge all day,

as they play with my distracted mind.

*

I feel alive inside when they flutter,

 bumping into bone, tickling ribs

as they try to get out, go home,

exit through one orifice or another.

When they do die down,

I take a break from euphoria,

go for a long walk,

 have a good  talk to myself.

*

But when they inevitably return,

and that tummy churning

expectant feeling of certainty

re-lights the fire within, well...,

then the butterflies burn,

their beautiful wings turned to flame;

I fan their embers,

making sure they never go out.

Nicky Jones.