Copyright © 2010 Michael J Emerson

This work is registered with the UK Copyright Service.


What kind of moth am I?

Cocooned in human pupa.

What new unfolding,

to what height will I fly?

What strange attractions

will hold my multifaceted eye?

What space, what light

beyond this body lie?

Will I remember my pupa state?

as maggot, grub or caterpillar

did I feel the urge to pupate?

When I breathe do I suffocate?

All I know is this chrysalis

of earth and stars, see and hear.

What if this membrane of thought

is so delicate that from it,

with a shrug, I could emigrate?

Will I flutter in the twilight

of a distant setting sun?

Will I flex my exoskeleton

and stir with my wings

some brand new medium?

Or will I boil and if I do

what exotic thread once spun

will pull me into oblivion?

Emperor, Goat, Hawk or Cinnabar.

What kind of moth am I?

Perhaps no moth but butterfly

or something far removed

from flesh and blood and beating heart.

Something the present can’t identify

that looking back will only see

the dry and broken husk

     of totality.