Chrysalis on Sale:

to be swallowed whole,
sheared off flesh and bones,
dreams silt to sandpaper coasts,
as if the looming day has no light,
as if nascent nocturnal hours
are swollen against full moon nights.
Terror cleaves mist laden wings,
they flutter, only to be swallowed,
again and again.
Carcasses in wet darkness,
burdened by whimpering air
are assembled on display shelves.

Somewhere, everyday,
in murmurs of desert rain
and hymns of rolling streams,
leaves sprout on the bough,
sprightly tendrils unfurl
under crimson cosmic rays,
rivers inscribe rugged mountains,
and trees unfelled for centuries,
with metre long roots,
are holding hostile terrain,
waiting, watching,
for cimmerian wings
to expand this verdure,
snatch their luminous selves
from talons of the wild,
and finally be airborne.