Ichtya

An egg

Weaved and white

like left on the black carpet

in an oblique ray of asleep light

There was an inner movement

a silken ripping

a fine breathe in the twilight tranquility

The spider has spread the cocoon

Her translucent legs slowly unfolded

Quivering like one hand of a dying woman

She opened her eyes

One by one

Revealing eight pearls black and rooted

Then she breathed the night.

Ichtya was born.

 

 

Ichtya

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(pictures taken by me)