Two

Waking up, I see it folded on the screen,
a thick husk of wing,
scaled eye and antennae
hunkered against the crosshatch framing of my window,
the portent of its sleep-disturbing buzz
a heaviness, a rasp, a discordance, and a song.
it is what it is: fierce, dense,
many-legged,
hungry. throughout the night i heard its scrape
and thump as it tried to come inside.
I don’t know what it’s waiting for now
or where it will go next,
but its presence here is as much a grace,
as vital a cord to the holy humming world
of insect vibration and movement
as the delicacy
and implied gentility
of the katydid’s supine greenness
on the clear glass door
in the next room.
one is a softness,
a murmured canticle celebrating neat proportions and easy beauty;
the other is a rough blues homage to
penetration,
intrusion,
and the most obvious sort of need.
I carry them with me now,
a pair of celebrants,
a winged leaf asleep as the sun comes up
and a prodigal bug exhausted by its own fervor,
just resting easy by itself
on a kind of threshold.

copyright 2007 L.K. Sorrells

Two

Laurkat

Jasper, United States

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