These fingers
Under
Go
Metamorphosis
into a chrysalis
see how the tip of the index
pushes back the hour pointer
removing yesterday
these fingers
go
under
metamorphosing
into a chrysalis
as they crawl into the very likeness
of cocoon from which they came
withdrawing from the cacophony
of orphaned voices
and engines
and war
these fingers claim sanctuary
inside the moist church
the warm church
the snug church
the cradle of allthatiskind
these butterflies
flutter by
migrating to amphibian grounds
of precious pearl
and nirvana’s lips
wanting to kiss
and this
nomadic tongue
however lyric
longs to speak
no more
which is why
it winds its way down
and back in time
to visit
that to which it owes
life.
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