The cocoon, the chrysalis, a fleeting womb nurturing the magic of metamorphosis, is woven by its captor. It is woven with trust in the future, with trust in a new being. A being that requires captivity as its first state, so that it might emerge into itself, so that it might emerge out of the caterpillar.
I wrap the fabric woven by a strangers’ hands, around my bare body. I wrap a strangers’ arms around my bare body. I fold in on myself. I close my eyes.
The sound of this night is built slowly. Sedated yet steady. As I desire to fall into an offered rhythm, you pull it away. So I accept my full body as the simple pendulum. I accept my fixed rocking in the breeze, as you, drop by drop, fill this space with sound. Layer by layer. I trust it will merge into a rhythm, eventually. Now, there is only potential energy.
Inside my cocoon, I am at the center of change.