in the cocoon of quarantine,
have you felt it yet?
The command to slow down?
The old heart stopping?
The old parts melting?
The new you finding its way
The instructions came with you (they were there all the time),
imaginal discs waiting for this Now,
this necessary moment:
this time to transfigure.
in the tomb of transformation,
don’t emerge too soon, unformed
ill-prepared for the world that awaits you.
Die, again, to all the ways you are not you.
Evolve, becoming everything you came to be,
rising on wings (they were there all the time),
then kissing a flower
and carrying love across the garden
to the next
and the next,