wistful butterfly-tailor spinning her cocoon's crest
re-metamorphosing the wounded wings to free herself into the wondering wilderness
sometimes a grave loss brings the things out to be found, again & again
charter unknown maps of garden beds to intuit oneself &
ascend the tree tops to and unlock the grass locks
attuning to the silver melody behind the walls
unveiling the sophisticated orchestrations of birth and death; rain and drought;
upon traversing the hundredth ring threshold where the embossed memories are
matted with the points vibrating and opening immensities
transitioning in between /given/ seasons: from the melted snow to the budding rose
