C: Poetry week 3 – Dream fabric

I once heard that when caterpillars turn into butterflies, they dissolve entirely inside of the cocoons. Their bodies become liquid and energy and memory, which takes on new form, an entirely new and surprising and harmonious body. Do we turn to liquid each night? Are there an infinite number of possibilities of who we could be and how we could look and act each day before we awake?

I am the liquid dreamer
Come swim with me in the scintillating waves
Which I have woven from the carded wool
And the fibers of flax.
I am the waves of the dreams,
As you, my lover, stitch the patches
Of rain back into my life where
Peace and soft breezes can rest a while.
I am the thread you stitch with,
The energy of my heart beats
The blossoming of the blood in my veins
Brings my body into the earth
Where I disintigrate,
And where you pick me up, one pebble
At a time to return me to the carefully balanced
Streams – beams of reflection –
Dreaming their time slowly until the next storm.

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