The balls of frass
are larger now,
a simple matter of
more leaves in,
more leaves out.
Filaments waggle,
feet undulate,
a puzzlement of
parts that won’t
be needed just
a few days from
now. Now is
almost constant
chewing, with
pauses to split
the skin, and
then to grab,
desperately,
another leaf.
So many view
metamorphosis
as a miracle—
how surprising,
then, that it
comes down to
this chewing,
this effort,
this poop.