Slowly, I come to.

First fingers. Then arms, legs and toes.

From somewhere a torso appears, topped by a head.

The pain takes a little longer to arrive.  But when it does
the body is gathered in a cocoon of ringing muscles and
tightening skin.

Eyelids flicker.  Hands reach for water to wet a dry mouth.

The sun continues to rise.
.
.
moth trap
I beat my wings
into the void
.
.
(Bleached Butterfly #1)