Walking or not walking, sitting
or not sitting. Forget running.
My heart doesn’t care. It flutters
like a butterfly with long slow
gliding strokes, then bouncing up/down,
tipped over in the wind, closing and
waiting, opening and coasting.
It flutters like a hummingbird
never at rest. There are flowers,
so many flowers, so many,
so much to do. Floating. Air borne,
weightless and whimsical. Silly
heart. What are you doing? And then
it rests. Suddenly. My son folds
his arms around me and doesn’t
want to let go.
Rosefire Rising 
Nice visual the heart flitting like a butterfly and captured on landing with the hug from your son.
It’s always fascinating hearing how the poem actually lands when read by someone else! Thank you!