Academic journal article Field

The Insects

Academic journal article Field

The Insects

Article excerpt

They pass like a warning of snow,

the dragonfly, mother of millions,

the scarab, the shepherd spider,

the bee. Our boundaries break

on their jeweled eyes,

blind as reflectors.

The black beetle

under the microscope wears the

blue of Chartres. The armored

mantis, a tank in clover,

folds its wings like a flawless

inlay of wood, over and over.

"There is something about insects

that does not belong to the habits

of our globe," said Maeterlinck,

touching the slick

upholstery of the spider,

the watchspring and cunning

tongue of the butterfly, blown out

like a paper bugle. Their humming

warns us of sickness, their silence

of honey and frost. Asleep

in clapboards and rafters,

their bodies keep the cost of our apples and wool. …

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