Ants

Can an Ant love an Ant?

Can a scissor-face

Kiss a scissor-face?

Can an Ant smile? It can’t.

Why all that coming and going?

They run, they wave their arms, they cry –

The Ants’ nest is a nunnery

Of holy madwomen.

They race out, searching for God.

They race home: ‘He’s not there!’

And their mad heads nod, nod, nod,

And they stagger in despair.

Bicycling, weeping, trembling (once

To have lost your last hope yet to

Still have just a chance

Is enough to know what they go through)

And carrying such a sob

Inside a body that’s

Part hard little knots

And part a scalding blob

Of molten copper trickling

Through a burning house.

Love of God is fierce!

But the Sun’s great yokel, Earth, only yawns and scratches the tickling.