At an imperceptible angle
Rays of light fill a room
Spill over a coffee table
And complete my perception on
Paying homage to insects

They are each dead in a jar
Collected after the massacres
Of a modern need to control and denounce
everything “unclean”

Remembering the cricket’s funeral–
When our eyes wander to the smallest
Of life we sink into the details
I challenge the perception
That these organisms aren’t precious
Aren’t worth a dedication.

Charlotte, I remember,
Had a book named after her.

I named the weaver in the carport
Orange abdomen that supported
Eight inch-long legs
Emily’s namesake

Authors have tapped into the value
Of recognizing the lives of the smallest
We value their art but somehow we
Lose the whole message.