while the kettle boils Ⅲ — metamorphosis

Wind in the Willows. Illustration by Chris Dunn

I envy the hermit crab.

When it tires of it’s shell,

it’s walls too confining and brittle,

it is not bound to it.

It may cast off its husk of which flaws do not serve it,

and emerge,

unburdened by imperfections.

Yet I remain,

entombed in this flesh,

aching beneath the weight of it,

longing for a metamorphosis that won’t come.

—amber.