I long to reinvent my life,

Not so much start over, God forbid, but

Transition from this to that.

She is weary and ready to let go,

Not so much from fatigue, but

From a sense of completion.

Truth is, she no longer sees the point.

It’s a good thing, really.

The challenge is that

She who is emerging is

Hovering in a cloud, a phantom.

I’ve seen her do this before, but

She seems to have forgotten how it goes.

The caterpillar is dissolving, and the

Butterfly is not as yet fully formed.

She is squirming.