Beetle


I watched a beetle climb and wobble
and thought it was important
or somehow something
grand

his little shadow
stretching
stretching like an army in the sunlight
following angrily behind

little marching bit of nature
do you know
what rhythm you are beating?

back and forth
and endlessly
repeating every motion
every miniscule emotion

step to step

wall to wall

in and out of shadow,
strangely unaccustomed to the stage.

I watched a sparrow hop
and thought it was important,
or tried to make it seem so
in my peckish, tired brain.

clawing circles round a sandy logic
like a sparrow scratching,
searching for a seed
in paved-over earth,
uselessly preoccupied,
unnecessarily concerned.

his little face like mine,
both worried and alert;
his little feet as restlessly
conceited as my own,

the difference
lies in our available escapes:

the little sparrow chose to fly…
I can only dream

I watched the sun grow higher
higher
scattering many thoughts important
and mostly insincere;

am I a beetle or a bird?

sometimes it’s hard to know