Open the chrysalis too soon

It’s just goo

And maybe that’s today

Maybe that’s now

Just a season of goo

From something

To something

A simply icky middle

Not without purpose

Formative

Necessary, of course

But a long long wait

And oh so much

Listening to the sound

Of your own breathing

And mostly just that

Pens that don’t write

Keyboards that don’t click

Yarns that don’t knit

Broken bulbs of hope

That used to light up

And will light up again