life's rich grubs

Love is a butterfly,
made for treasure. And the hunt 
your eyes were enlisted in at birth 
never ends, never ceases gobbling 
bugs, flowers and dirt. Getting 
our grubby fingers so near 
the caterpillar it squirts. 

We do not grasp, even touch, but 
such mystery is in us, we do not 
mind. Just the sight of this long
fat bug going wriggling up some
stem, some leaf. We will wait
to see, and find out
what it finds.