Four months will show the pupal form unfold,
a map made legible by careful light.
It opens into something faintly old,
a nearer cousin finally in sight.
It’s hard to mark the instant wind goes by;
it leaves no margin note, no signal flare.
You turn, and know it’s slipped beyond the eye,
its evidence dispersed in moving air.
A breath arrives—unhindered, cool and wet,
a brief concussion close against the ear.
It enters fully formed, as if already met,
before the mind admits that it was here.
Two blue-edged rings around a greener core
tilt, then separate—the leaf can hold no more.