Roaming The Rolling Hills Poem by Charles Chaim Wax

of Western New York State
with my big 8x10 Toyo view camera
I poked around for beauty.
One day by a small river
I lifted a rotting black walnut
from the ground
white worms wiggled inside
the dark brown nut-meat
and I cradled this minute universe
in the palm of my hand
meant nothing to them
jiggled as before
not faster or slower
but steadily going about
the business of eating:
white star worms in the blackness of space.
Later driving along Route 15
in the dim twilight
the stars happened again
when an insect
smacked into my windshield and exploded
into a phosphorescent green point.
I drove on.
A second green illumination
then another
soon the glass pulsated
with infinite green lit up specks
well, not really,
but more than I could count
then pulled to the shoulder of the road.
Insects no longer alive
glowed with residual chemistry:
the gentle radiance of green stars.
Finally authentic darkness descended
and I headed to the Anais Dairy in Avon
for a cup of cinnamon ice-cream
store still open
ordered two scoops
sat by the side of that country road
and scanned the expanse of heaven:
stars without metaphor.