Select a poem:
That beetle I saw
while I weeded in the lush and
    neglected flower bed -

I parted the growth to pull up
    the tall grasses, weed them out.

And there was
moving over the cloddy ground
every leg using everything it knew,
through tall stems of weeds and
under a high canopy of perennial flowers
    in bloom -

He had a portfolio tucked under
    his wings.

By his walk
it was plain he carried
all the secrets of his clan
with him.

A field of memories
    too big to leave behind
sent him out.
And here he has found his field of plenty.

It’s where
I do my gardening.

I’ll say this:

I won’t be the one to
shut this beetle out of
what was promised since
the rocks began to
    stand still
and the wind
brought it’s first soothing songs
    on the air.

If there is any rejoicing here
we will all do it

In the shadow of grasses
    of valerian
    and wild yellow buttercups
    amid mint
    and sweet woodruff,

beetle goes along.

The afternoon light warms
    the path he has taken,
and I hear picnic talk - and
if I listen long enough
I can hear small accordions.

The stories they go home with!

The longer beetle
    is here, the closer
our stories

The weather stamps us with
its seal of approval.

“You are qualified to
linger a while longer.”

“Sit down.
Write your letters.”