Imago

A round block of stone An image is hiding its face Waiting to be born Slowly, ever so slowly The rock begins to crack And cold stone As hard as flint Becomes warm and supple ‘neath the artist’s flexing back Like the sculptor’s chisel Your love cut deep And left me wounded..bleeding Crying out for comfort While tossing in my sleep In dreams I lie Curled in the chrysalis But there in the light that is dawning A butterfly spreads its wings Flying upward, heavenward There to the place of its longing