insect's clock

fixed eye on the beetle’s fragile flight

announced in the air briskly

hind legs arched with all their might

and a protective belly

still pulsates its opal mystery

across the living room to a window

person-shaped

shortened route to a sheltered grave

its wings still defy

a shell, engine and its swift soundwave

still timidly high-pitched

if only it could beat its wings back

and learn how to reach

the solid armory from a long-past breath

as long as it avoids

nights filled with sleepless whims

and days shortened of their death.

a sliver of scenery

I thought of a body stretched across the pavement

breathing distracted by the wide picture skywards

waiting in its own terms

for a limb or two to be crushed into stone

without pause or resentment

communication with the world

through touch and tongue

or skin and bone

under clouds’ shadows to hold

a stare overgrown

like weed through rock for miles

stitched along the road

I felt a body stretched across the fabric

two hands, two arms, twenty-seven bones

and a burial of seeds

for lilies untold.