Metamorphosis in May

Cast down by the wiles of some capricious goddess
He lay just beyond the glass. I could not touch him.
Only watch as he struggled
writhing
spindly appendages stretching for the windowsill.

Even when he could reach it, his levers were inadequate
Just allowing the other legs to have a go.
The ball’s in your court now.

A sparrow played behind him.
A young thing, I imagined
flitting.

I focused again on him in front of me
whose name will be so common next month
Whose movements now seemed so lethargic
rhythmic.

I looked away for several minutes
And when I returned he had grown even slower.
His limbs now moved in apathy, forgetting all desperation.
I urged his efforts on
But the glass deleted my efforts of hope.

A minute later you had died
You had stopped
You had ceased
to strive
to live
to be.

I walked outside
to make you right
But I had failed
and so had you.

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