"A butterfly does not become a caterpillar,"

A butterfly does not become a caterpillar,
and a tree does not become a seed;
and like a butterfly or a tree,
no matter how fond we are
of what we have been,
we are each of us irrevocable outcomes,
in our cases
of decision and chance.
Our lives are mad gambles played with flesh,
and while some are horrified
at the bare bones nature of this high stakes game,
others revel with abandon.

I cannot not love you.
I cannot unflutter my heart
when I see your face
hear your voice
glance into your eyes.
What I do not know
is the balance of this love—
how much of love is a decision?
how much is chance?
Like a fire,
it began with a spark—
like a house on fire
parts of me are smoldering
parts of me are rapt
with conflagration.

I tug at the elbow of the maitre de jeu
placing even more into the game—
without really knowing
what the chips mean—
no one knows
and yet everyone plays.
I am playing as if my chips were on fire—
if my decision was wrong
then only chance can save me—
and yet I feel so sure—
surer than a seed or caterpillar
ever could be.