It's Still Life

This poem is based on a morning of observing ants with my grandson Nico.

Do Ants’ Eyes Narrow in the Wind

Do ants stop, as I do,
and listen to distant thunder roll.

Do they lift their feet
in snow,
on hot sand,

and do they dance.

Do their eyes narrow
in the wind.

Do they know
come July

they’ll sprout wings
and fly.

Why do they trickle
up from the roots of trees,

across the lawn

like flood
or forest fire.

Is that an ant
crawling up the window,

bronze and black,

weightless
in its single purpose.

Following cracks.

Holes and gaps.

Do ants’ eyes narrow
in the wind.

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Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

©Misky 2006-2026.