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.