submerged in a cascade of
cacophony, my pieces wade
like fish, into semptember's silvery net
so its plundering pull would heave them
out
from their misery, grant them purpose
in the mouths of fortunes, that gobble them
as delicacies; they wither, till my egg-fragile
heart
unravels itself, savors the warmth
of the virgo sun, and hatches
immaculately, into me.
