Butterfly Garden

Cocoon twirls on a twig
like a bobbin spinning up thread.
building its own prison.

What if it wants out.
What if it doesn’t want to be like a
mummy in a musky tomb,
shrouded falcon, fetus,
bug in a web.

It’s the restless nature
of things held within.
Child locked in a closet,
clasped pearl, malignant cyst,
volcano trembling beneath the park.
Trapped beaver chews
bone like candy cane.

Star explodes, atom splits.
Splinter in finger, yolk in egg,
parapalegic in a silver chair,
the sick or old desperate for heaven.

Cocoon, cocoon, straightjacketed in silk
thumb of god, wrapped in wings,
waiting to ascend.

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