So this is what it’s like to metamorphose:
your heavy self creeping, creeping,
slow and deliberate, day after day,
and then, (why?)
one day, just this day,
you spin a fine web to bind you, to hold you,
to surround you, to darken the sky,
to keep you within a warm space, silent, unmoving, unknowing.
How you love your chrysalis!
It holds you snug, suspended, not breathing, not quite being.
And then, (why?) one day, just this day,
you desire above all else to tear this cocoon asunder,
to rip it to shreds, to see the light,
to breathe, to open one tiny space
until you, Slug, heavy and slow,
have wings now, you are naught but wings!
Wings thinner than air itself, and with the slightest stir,
You fly. You fly. You fly.
Mountain Light Sanctuary
July 14, 2012