John Greenleaf, Our Precious Ants

This, the lawn chair out back
gazes all night and all day
upon the universe that it can
a small section of the sky,
three oleanders, dirt and fence,
a wall. Things come and go
when the wind slips through
then the stars as if on the end
of a kaleidiescope twist by.
A happy generation of ants trods over
wise to the hazards and the noise.
The armageddons of distant shapes
are gauged not in how long
or far but in juicy conversations
about the wealth of nations.
Remember when Solomon answered
is all they know while hoarding
grains and children, remember
the ancestors who died
an hour ago, over at the Alamo!
Recall the prophet who did nothing
more than coat our sores
with his sweet subliminal taste, who called the army
on his chimes then felled the forest with his touch
and left us quite the same, alone in Palestine
with our stars above and ground below,
the clothes upon our backs.