“I want to be reborn,” she said decisively.
So she plucked the moon and marinated it in poison;
she ground oleander and water hemlock,
and drank the decoction from her porcelain tea cup.
She gathered the stars—near and far, and far and near—
into her bosom, burning her skin
until she was stripped to the bone.
Then she swallowed the sun
and let it burn her further,
until all her wishes, her desires, her hatred,
and her attachments that had been deeply engraved in her bones
became nothing but whispers and ash,
carried by the wind
and scattered into nothingness…
“I want to be born again…”
Then she woke, and became a butterfly.