At age 7 you plunge from the top of a walnut tree
only to be saved & swallowed
by a red ant hill. The pinhole an entrance
of undulations around hardpan & root. You grasp
that ants understand infinity in their relentless
caves, that to escape is to dig deeper into dark. You
accept this labyrinth as life & taste earth
from the inside. The ants do not say
they desire to cave your body,
tunnel your organs & marrow, but you feel this ache
from your hand, now flame & fire & punctures
from a colony of mandibles, now a glove
burning & dancing to your agony. The ants take
the hand. You ask to leave but learn
ants have no ears. You swipe them away,
only they return. You swipe them
away, only they return. You swipe them away, only
they return. You see how they now devour
both hands & discover ants will fight
to the death. You do not pray, but gnaw
at your hands. The ants see you will feed
& scuttle off. You bleed & watch
the ants remake their hill & disappear. The stars
whistle & your hands swell.