Nets and Butterflies

We may be, for one another,
The net that holds,
The net that binds,
And through this is our power.

We hold the butterfly,
That flaps and beats,
And as we tremble, we love.
This is power too.

And can we hold
Without contemplating
The silence of the pins and the box?
(As we pray those who hold us do not.)

So in the wings
Is the net
But, in praise and song,
Always in the net
Must be the beating of the wings.