Flight of the Consciousness

She is but dribbles of soap bubbles
blown and flown from a child's wand.
She is a cherub floating on a fluff of white
gently disbursing into the light.
Giggles from the past slip
silently from the whiskied  pages of time,
dancing in circles, higher and higher.
She's here, and then not.
She loves, and maybe not
depending on how many petals are pulled,
then left to float into the garden of eternity.