Sometimes longing gets the best of an insect
drunk off the porch light's rays
and believing it the sun
Sometimes longing gets the best of an insect
and when my wings beat too fast
and I am like Icarus
a moth touching the sun,
When my body breaks and I fall
like Icarus to the green sea
of the porch's wooden floor,
When my wings won't lift me any longer
and I am forced to crawl the ground
like the ants, like the caterpillars
When longing gets the best of this insect,
and I am not quite moth or maggot
I pray no spider makes a meal of me,
no boot, a footstool of me
but mostly,
I pray no one kills me for the crime of being small