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  • Toby Gordon

Six Thousand Eyed Insect

The waist-high trees are captive

in the hands of the wind,

bending their barky backs

so their canopy tickles the

roots too big to stay blanketed beneath the giving soil.


Gales send the finger like leaflets of the

waist high trees

dancing frantically as though waving

to a loved one leaving too soon.


Nodules buried in years of story and decay

are given the task of ensuring a foundation.

A job they enjoy.


Up on the hill the grass blades

are consumed with no protests

by the unstoppable cow tongue.


The once gold-green,

glass-green,

vascular blades

now muddled to a paste

in the salivating mouth of a creature

who could be a beast if seen in a certain light.


Up on the hill flies border the wet oasis of an eye

while on the arching back of cattle the egret spends its waking hours

on the slow moving train with four legs

eating the six legged, six thousand eyed insects.

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