Folding my billowing wings,

I have cocooned myself, again, for the final time.

I suck in my wings and sour at the silken finish.

My vertical grave suspended on bare thread.

My frozen chrysalis locks shut,

aborting the quiescent imprint of an already doomed future.

Once a beautiful winged thing,

I vainly searched for a branch to rest,

 

vainly searched the capitol of a flower,

nectar sipped, flower stripped, sucked bare.

 

I danced on air, like chiffon floating, my amber-stained

spotted underbelly straddled petals like men taking land.

 

Yet soaring under the bonewhite hellstone was

never enough and the majesty could not sustain me.

 

So do not watch me make my final flight into the dawn,

into the day that will unfold like the arms of a crocus.

 

Away from the ivory eye of night,

with my dreams as moth-eaten touchstones.

 

My imago coffin tastes air for the final time,

pummeled with earth until it is unknown.

 

Please take my lasting gesture—

a heart song dipped in fire.