Wrapped

in my shroud,

 I am blind to Your brilliance.

Larval squirmings, procedural dues, envelop

mind and consume corpse so that all I feel is the pain

of becoming; the razor-edge ritual, this

infernal breakdown of internal structure,

this corpuscle soup I slaver and

squirm in throttles

all impetus.

But

in order to fly,

legs must be leashed.  In order to soar,

wings must be hammered thin as air.  Remake me.

Reset each molecule, retune each cell, that each atom

would sing the frequency of its conception, that

restoration and healing would croon cocoon.

That larval limping and caterpillar

crawl would collapse, gutted.

And the writhe, be

 butterflied.