Four months will reveal

a pupae, unfolding like a map

into its better cousin.

 

It’s always hard to tell

when the wind

will intimate its passing,

that while turning

 

you have missed it–

a breath coming into the world

unabated, a damp burst

of air in one’s ear,

 

as two blue coronas, feathered

about a green circle,

flip to edge

of a wet leaf.