INSIDE THE CHRYSALIS IN THE SNOW

When the man leapt out

on to the dance floor

at the last minute

he suddenly found himself

standing among those seeking

and available: a singular

congregation of women

AND men, both.

It flew from the hand of

the newly wedded bride

like a motley flock of birds

all different in shape,

size, color and species.

It glided and spun in the air

like another bride dancing

toward her groom. Like possibility

intricately bundled and fully adorned.

The man watched it clear the tiara

of the goddess in front of him

and then quite simply

alight in his hands.

The bridal bouquet did this.

He stood stunned

looking at the most sacred

and voluptuous creature

of arrangement

he’d ever seen or held.

It was a ceremony unto itself

in his hands

under the antlers

and branches 

and mirror ball

artfully arrayed

from the rafters above.

The room swooned and howled

at the catch the man made—

a catch he did not mean to make.

A catch that left him feeling 

like he was the miracle 

that got caught.

All this, and so much more,

took place like a prayer

of new beginnings

inside what looked like,

from the outside,

a village-sized chrysalis

wrapt and glowing in the snow

under a waning gibbous moon

as translucent, sacramental flakes

fell like kisses and blessings

from the amorous stars above.