This grotesque,
this comic noir,
this black mass of
soul-crushing powers,
obliterated for a spring hour
by a mantis nymph, poised on a flower.
I am mad with miracles and overwrought with cares.
The human world crumbles, but this is something rare:
an egg case has broken, all the mantids born,
tiny nymphs set upon leaf and stem.
I am awash in heaven,
the graceful tidings
of a hundred alien faces
come to fairy the trees,
and the peace of these small lives,
felt most keenly on a little patch of home
under a sovereign blue sky.
For one spring hour,
my precious girl and I
are a respite of eyes,
glittering curiosity
at this skittering ballet
of mantid babes.
May they grow to box
all enemies,
to fight, to pray,
and never be a feast
for birds,
reptiles,
or lesser beasts,
but deftly skirt away,
to live,
to pray
another day.