An ant crossed my path today, and
I offered to share her burden
but she trudged on, ignoring me
like an inksplotch or two or four,
inconsequential as a butterfly.
I flew home on a dotted line
twirled my pen a few times, and sent
ink ripples to seas I’ve never seen.
The squid’s clear eye stared at me
so I cooked and ate him. That night
a border patrol was predated,
and I buried him beneath
a stone I come back to see.
The least I can do is offer
help to passing ants today.