my anxiety has me lock-jawed
what is worth speaking of
somehow becomes pounded
to a dull murmur, so
if the Monarch could speak,
its very first word would be:
wind.
and then, it would regale us
with stories of Mexico, of hidden
fields of gold swaying in the sun.
and it would share in detail
the colors it captures while
sleeping in the oyamel fir.
so this is where you go, when
everything has teeth, sharp as
bayonets?
I ask myself.
and what would the praying
mantis utter after a meal?
bless him.