By | 1 November 2015

The nosy dib, grub, moil
of a prickly neighbour
has razed another anthill,
routing the troops – a spill
of broken rosaries that soon
rethread and reconnoitre to rebuild,
with instinct, the overseer,
directing the jet-black trickle’s
It’s an old film’s jerky flow,
this swapline of kiss:
one pheromone-tracking,
flickering unit of formic work,
that scoops and carries and stacks.
Team spirit is their religion,
Many anticipating One,
the Tao of all such tiny mindful toil.

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