airborne still in a two-sided glass sarcophagus. Paraglider spots of orange and yellow flung from your double flutter soared over office shelves from Manhattan to Texas.
A powdery promise of resurrection for a crumbling King James Bible with eighty-six inked dates in different tones and slants. One for every year—starting in 1891—
that great-grandfather Peyton Irving read the Good Book “kiver to kiver.”

Fiery insect, radiant
shimmer— a wave
of delight beaming
metamorphosis.
Your fragile rebirth—
egg-to-larva-to-pup-melt
—allowing you and kin
a short air ride. An inside-
outing. And so close to thin
pages of scritta—tree essence—
lignin rigidity culled, mashed,
rolled into tissue recording
compact Biblical stories.

Slow motion change
caught mid-transition.
Peyton and his memories
six-feet under—re-earthed.
All of us hiking from light
back round into dark. . .
So air swooner whirl
your daring-do above
ground in a biologic
banner: Caterpillar finale!
Let deaths’ chrysalis sprout
wings.