A Gift - Aga Zaryan

Just when you seem to yourself

Nothing but a flimsy web

Of questions, you are given

The questions of others to hold

In the emptiness of your hands

Songbird eggs that can still hatch

If you keep them warm

Butterflies opening and closing themselves

In your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure

Their scintillant fur, their dust

You are given the questions of others

As if they were answers

To all you ask

Yes, perhaps this gift is your answer