Crouching down to pick up
a piece of broken glass, once
part of a lemonade bottle, lying
on the grass just beside the cracked
asphalt of the pavement,
noticing an entrance to a nest
of ants, and the endless busy
traffic in and out, following
the line of insects to a birch
and up its trunk, the aphids
hidden among the leaves,
like the nest below the ground
with its queen, two unseen
ends of this ceaseless movement,
the beginning and the end
and the beginning.
09.07.2024
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