the air smells of roses

i am in a garden

there are butterflies

spinning circles around my body

i am not an eye

nor a part of that system

anymore

i am young

youthful

with birch

chestnut hair

two legs and a set of arms

restored

to my body

my back is pressed to the ground

i do not understand

what has happened to me?

it is dark behind my eyelids

as i picture the end of the world

if i move

i fear that i may disappear

an armed brute grabs my elbow

rips me from the soil

is this what it is like

to be born again