Four Studies of Cocoon

Like a very ancient seed, it encloses me with slowness.
It creeps it’s long stretchy hands around my skin, warm and moist and silent.

I hear the sound of dribbles from way beneath as the tears of all my years soak my sky high
feet.
Every drop, an echo: most alone in others’ company.

Like a very ancient seed, it plants me within a patch of slowness.
And sits patiently
for my grief to crack.