The Toil of Insects

Here’s comfort

to a scientist

.

I once pinned an insect

Inspected, studied,

learned patterns

of licks,

counted follicles

Honed utter resonance

Two eyes probed

In search of a return

Glimpse, door ajar

Propped upon elbow

.

I once pinned an insect

stitched soles, pointed

Stuffed pockets,

Eyes unexpected,

balance lost

Tipped back into iris

Caught by color

Brilliant

Eruption of butterflies

encapsulated

I fell in love, maybe

.

I once pinned an insect

Paper thin winged

Buzz of thistle weed

In resisting morphoses

clinging

Dropped, keys forgotten

Mirrored circadian desire

Axis shifted

Boxes

.

You are leaving.

.

I find great comfort

in the toil of insects.

There’s your vocal

poetry.

.

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