Caterpillar

I write angry poetry.
But this morning,
I’m not angry.
No, I’m stretching
like a caterpillar,
crossing a jeweled leaf
in late summer,
satisfied having eaten another,
needing nothing more now
than these droplets
on my many feet,
and natural love letters
written in veins,
not thinking of drinking,
but looking up.
Is that a cocoon I see?
 
#KatherinesCoffeehouse

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