The ants seem totally unconcerned
with the lightning flashing pink streaks
across the sky above us
and even less concerned with my opinion of them
Busy - always- in their quest to clean my house
of its plethora of dead fly bodies and missed toast crumbs
It's a series of odd bargains I seem to strike these days
with the 'others' that share this space with me
Swollen legs traded for honey
and lessons in courage
Occasional shrew poop on windowsills
beside the ghostly wing remains of moths
Lego indents in tender bare feet
for the laughter of two boys
Mostly, it seems easy
As easy I think, as that little ant believes moving the giant fly is
This sharing of space
mixing breath with those I love
and those I can hardly say I am fond of
leaving room for ants to be ants
and boys to be boys
Mostly, I say, in a breathless way
for the storms beauty and its fury still sometimes clutch at my heart
along with the opinions of others
and leave me forgetting that sealed up houses
do not breath
