on cloth I stitch my words,
the larva drawing its silk back and forth
through squares of cloth

that will be luna wings, dozens
of specimens stitched together, connected
into a cocoon I can wear under my dress
these first squares pinned
across my chest to change my heart,

maybe I'm just a page in the master's book;
free in my thoughts, but attached to the binding.
I can turn but not exit; how ridiculous;