Silkworms...

The hurt you embrace becomes joy.

Call it to your arms where it can change.

A silkworm eating leaves makes a cacoon.
Each of us weaves a chamber of leaves and sticks.

Silkworms begin to truly exist
as they disappear inside that room.

Without legs, we fly.

When I stop speaking, this poem will close,

and open it's silent wings...

Rumi