small insects
we’ve ceased trying
to learn their names
having reached an age
where we know enough
words and not enough
of everything else
the empty carapaces
swept with feather down
behind the door
in gauzy corners
stability of its form
living on even as
the rest liquifies
and disappears
safe inside itself
unlike this fickle
skeleton held up
by muscle and ligament
parts we can’t even tense
through thinking
just the shock of
cold water
threat of drowning
can move us
while each day
the roads
are the same
and the houses
but each other thing
the leaves and flowers
deer and birds and
crops in the field
in an infinite quavering
barely noticeable way
changes
