As if I could stop life from changing
Recreating the womb
the catepillar retreats into itself,
a shell to cover vulnerability.
Does it hurt to grow wings?
To become something else?
...thoughts of leaving
In exhiliration of height
does the butterfly ever miss the intimacy
of inching along a tender green leaf?
the smooth, cool surface full of promise,
touching with the body's entirety?
...when I want to stay.
A/N- Just finished reading "Uncertainty" on the Haiku page by WoodpeckerWho and it sparked these thoughts.