A Feather in the Wind

My hand outstretched before me 
A feather rests there in my open palm
Released in flight 
It’s a mere hint of the heart of its creature

My fingers want to caress, savor, and treasure it but my heart will not allow it
It has no roots, no home, no owner; I would not know what to do with it
Other then wiping my brow with its insincere nature

To move, it will only blow away
To close my hand around, will only reveal how little there is
What can i do with what looks so beautiful on its surface but is dead inside

A feather in the wind is beautiful on its own