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It began with the ants
as if my life were a picnic.
Invading, laying trails
making my home their haunts.
Carelessly laid traps
filled with fatal sweetness
turned their hosts to ghosts.
Then came the earwigs
lying in the cold damp
corners, scuttling about
making my home their digs.
Each one found is squashed
without passion or compassion.
They find safer corners.
Then next the crickets
with their fortunate chirps
resonating from each darkness
sing in unending sets.
Tracked and caught
carried in cupped hands
are evicted in dozens.
Then somehow brown bats
with whorled ears and
wings that flutter as
ghosts of long gone cats.
Caught in the web of a net,
they are released into
a more verdant darkness.
I donžt wish to whine,
all Godžs creatures have
their beauty and place.
I just wish it weren't mine!
Ribs flexing with the effort
of each next breath.
A childžs courage accepts
this bodyžs betrayal,
uncomplaining.
His hand reaches out
to offer, and receive, comfort.
The rasping of air belies the
simplicity of breathing.
Yet here is God,
in reaching out,
in being held,
in breathing.
in breath.
Each next breath
an answer.
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