I move through a sticky air

with my Sycamore skin smiling

and cicada angel wings whirring softly

as around me late summer stars

fall

and the delicate carcasses of winged creatures surrender

to the earth.

I stop to examine a butterfly on the gravel road

black satin se la vie

I turn over the fragile body

to reveal a flutter of activity.

Shiny ant legs and pale powder.

In a brave second death, it has transformed into energy.

The tiny hungry ants pour out from a small abdomen

as I imagine love pouring out of some broken heart,

unencumbered by transgressions.

We are in the Path of Totality-

ancient and tragic.

You lionhearted seekers,

hold on to this if nothing else:

The earth

and her descendants of rock and gas

will continue to turn our sinewed stories into beauty

and fine powder.