The heartland howls to June bugs’ cries –
metallic giants, they chirp and crawl
through mazes of boxes that grow straight up
from ground that bears the nests of stone.
Below, the millipede rushes to work,
it skids to a stop and opens its mouths
for clouds of prey that billow and flow,
rushing in-out, again and again.
But at night, when the krill face away from the sun,
their feet locked in, their eyes falling up,
you may catch a glimpse of a skip or a hop,
an echo of laughter, a swift
exchange –
Guided by fireflies standing still,
dreamers walk at their signal –
electric
