Ants, at home
in the crack of a sidewalk,
dig their corridors,
tend eggs. If disturbed,
they move pale eggs further
into the bowels of the passageways.
Their tiny dirt volcanoes
hide this from our eyes.
A road of scent is left
for ants to follow
to the grasshopper;
two or three wrangle
its wing to the underground.
Worker ants store their larder.
Soldier ants will emerge
with the collapse of their entrance.
All this hidden from our turmoil above.
Muddy River Poetry Review
