Rosalie Moffett • Instar and Eclose

I know metamorphosis turns
a kaleidoscope

into a caterpillar and then into a gypsy moth
with a furry mouth. I’ve learned

some things.
To mimic injury

the plover fakes an ineffectual
wing. Failure: the lure

of a wound is always enticing
away from something

smaller, more
vulnerable. Everything

I’ve ever kissed
was a tree

in boy’s clothing. Every time I’ve yawned
it’s tasted like apples. I climb

into the white silk gown—it’s more
a question

of revision—made by tent caterpillars.
They ruin the tree into a shimmering.

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Rosalie Moffett was the winner of a 2012 “Discovery”/Boston Review poetry prize, and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Boston Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, The Believer, and Salt Hill.