Pupate

The night precipitates I’ll sleep
I’ll die by the light of the moon
And I’ll dream forever wakeful
Pupate in a butterfly’s cocoon.

The light precipitates I’ll wake
Embossed in pollen fields of nectar
I’ll taste the liquor of holy eternity.
Join wing hands with the spectre.

They’ve whispered is my collector.
The one whose flower is captivating
Their bodies of drowsy emptiness…
Fulfilling, longing with pardoning.

The night precipitates I’ll sleep
The light precipitates I’ll wake!
And dwell amid the one flower
Borne as a windbreak, keepsake.

~or~

The night precipitates
I shall sleep endless dreams.
I shall live—die, pupate
and, perpetuate
velvet winged like butterflies.

I shall offspring-forth - leap-
amid 'His' nectar fields of stars
there shall 'I' rest on eternities' nap?
And be as if time
-had never conceived me.