The walking
stick picks
its way
upside down
along the
underside
of the meadow’s
flowering surface —
goldenrod,
asters,
snakeroot —
a stem
among stems,
stalking just
the right
leaf. When
it reaches
a gap
in the canopy,
it stops
to sway —
a rhythmic
rocking. Then
one spined
twig reaches
for the nearest
likely toehold
& the rest
of it follows,
stretched like
the shadow
of a tree
in winter
across
the glaring
moment of
the sky.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
I like this a lot, Dave. The sparseness suits it. And those last few terse lines! Wow.
I love it.
stretched like
the shadow
of a tree
in winter
across
the glaring
moment of
the sky.
Yes, I like the end particularly. Very nice!
Wonderful poem about my favorite insect.
“one spined/ twig reaches”
The shape and pacing of the poem is so much like their measured movements. Well done. Makes me see a critter I haven’t in too long.
Yes, wonderful ending. New Caledonia has provided some great stick-insect encounters.
mmm lovely