Ants On Concrete


Ants on Concrete

One, two, seven o’clock

is an illusion.

In the world of dust

they single-file into metal


strapped to time & smog.

Through traffic noise

I hear a hawk cry

spilt the air &

notice, suddenly,

the sky above &

the dance of wind on leaves.

Seconds earlier there was

soot and diesel;

Now only orange blossom

perfume & bougainvillea blooms.

My heart swells

at the sight of a

mourning dove, &

an ant crossing concrete

is enough to make me stop

and stare in


—-K. M. M.


About Lightning Heart (Vikara)

Nomad. Poet. Philosopher. Teacher. View all posts by Lightning Heart (Vikara)

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