Having heard
its new name
a little wound one
excitedly
jittered
within her
inner sanctum
time would make its
form and name true
but her voice
whispered…
hotly, insisted…
“they will have flown
and I will only
hear the wind a-lowing”
within itself
its slowed
heart beat fevered.
the colours swirled
yet did not settle.
the tendrils braced
but did not spread.
the silk unfurled
but lay tattered.
and out of the
chrysalis came,
the one seeking
her name,
and heard only
the flutter-flutter of
surrounding
wings.
intotheindigo 