Ladybird
A blade of grass
is bent
with the weight of a ladybird
walking its length,
and as smoothly resumes,
while she returns along the keel,
its chosen curve.
And so to another,
which bows down with her and rises
again alone.
It has the look of
play,
these journeys to the end and back,
this grass-swinging.
She’s teasing gravity,
tickling her minute feet over
the tipping point.
It has the look of days,
of a tiny sun-car arching
over its world,
as though a creator
placed on some of earth’s handiwork
a final touch,
the seal of a thumbprint,
such that this red, black-spotted dot
moves in our eyes
in an aura of warmth,
uniquely, for an insect, big
with happiness.
John Gibbens
Thanks to Jon Sullivan for the beautiful bug picture (pdphoto.org)
