Black, Not Shining, Yet the Truth Strikes Through
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The tiny fly or wasp-like beast walks six
Legs straight across my screens, computer’s, then
My phone’s. He pauses for a moment, flicks
His hands together while his abdomen
Reveals its reverend smaller self to me
Before he rubs his last two legs against
Each other. Not a lot that I can see,
Yet he his perfect in his form, condensed
To tininess and flawlessness, complete
Like God, Jehovah God in vastness, though
Not. Wasp or fly, this creature is more neat
Than Allah, Vishnu —all those gods that glow.
Those always float eternal . . . yet . . . minute
Transparent wings are briefly absolute.
~ Phillip Whidden