I dream about her and see
a metamorphosis beneath
the ****** woad

I dream about her after falling
into a bed that has held the shape
of my irregular body

I dreamed about her

She is the only morning star and too
the black caterpillar in dye
below the leaves

Does her repose animate me?

I think and think I do
the thought extending to my limbs
somatic skin and the receptors in
my eyes appraising the world

In every moment of sleep and dream
where I could be awoken
from the impairment of unconsciousness
there were moments of sleep
where I did not dream and
the butterfly was not me