It is happening

A metamorphosis

A new becoming

What was

Still is

Yet transformed.

What will I be?

An ordinary moth

A Monarch butterfly

Or a totally new creature

As yet unknown?

 

The stirrings

The yearnings

Darkness of the pupae

Light, a purple dawn,

Just beyond.

Or

Is this my second sleep?

Am I fooled by slumber?

If real, this imagining

Do I have it in me?

Am I too old to fly?