---

∴

there is a beetle scrambling
out of morning sun,

caught off guard
by the coming of day.

he limps

on clumsy legs
and wobbled gait –

as if he were made
of newly donned prosthetics –

to the wooded inlets
of manicured shrubs
and the hosta
that promise a shroud.

 

he made it.

 

before the birds and the heat.

 

and i was glad.

 

and a breeze came by
and kissed me
on the cheek.

∴

 

 

---