I am an ant pushing a stick
at the end of summer.
I carry a parcel of leaf
to deliver wherever
the scent takes me.
I have no leader
and still move mountains.
My cousin, the butterfly,has no brains but can fly to Peru.
Can you?
I am an ant pushing a stick and
all of your philosophy
can’t move that stick
or find an explanation
for me.
We are both tied to the end of summer,
lashed to the season’s,
of this one mooned earth.
like flowers we open to the light
and close our eyes at night
and we look to the sky,
the late summer sky,
and return to pushing our stick.
david michael jackson