i bear
residual nutmeg on my fingertips
to mark with it
the footprints of some
orphan caterpillar
along my moldy north wall.

i watch the multilegged being
downing slowly,
attempting to reach
a young bush that,
for some time now,
decided to come to life
through my dining-room floor
and invades my private space
with oxygen.

apparently ignoring my vicinity,
the future butterfly still crawls,
following perseveringly its
DNAed necessity.

i guess
when it’s time to fly,
it’s just
time to fly…



© Liliana Negoi


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