Baltic Amber

Suspended in a bead of amber the ant
dreams itself to perfection, caught
as the bark bled its juices and the resin hardened
in the afternoon heat of the Palaeolithic.
And so it is frozen there, its antennae
raised in some final gesture
of fright and sacrifice, its tiny insect eyes
magnified and looking out to where
I face it on the page: emblem and lifeline
of all that perishes, all that survives.


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