Chrysalide

It's falling so slowly, calmly, with a smile.
The wizard's stick was overgrown with moss.
Blue eyes with black circles - no, they sucking black brown,
drowning, drowning,
the moon blue blown by crows,
a baby woodpecker  is breeding himself  in the nest,
dream, fly,
but just a cat
- barely perceptible movement, barely palpable,
slipping
on the palm surface, scratching ...
thou wilt not yet to me reveal.