Confession

If confession is,
in fact,
good for
the Soul,
I’m going to
do my Soul
a solid
and confess

to a sordid
practice of
treating Gifts
from The Mystery,

those dazzling
discoveries
that arrive
gift-wrapped in
flamboyant
joy,

as if they are
luminescent
butterflies,
to be captured
and pinned to
some prideful
collection,

to be trotted out
for display
to unsuspecting
guests,

instead of
exclaiming
over them
as they flitter
around fanning
delight,

then grinning
into the breeze
that trails them

as they are
swept away
by sunlight.

(Photo by Sagar Kulkarni; UnSplash)