The Temptation To Exist
Down below on the bottom
where sight and sunlight strain to go,
this was their home for a year;
millions eating their way to today,
fuelling themselves for their only flight.
Tomorrow they will all be dead.
All afternoon they’ve risen,
at dusk they will take to the air;
this is a dance of life and death
this is the act they were born for.
First in flight are the males
who will grasp any breeze that is blowing,
hanging their adverts high
to be joined by a mass emergence of consorts;
and in the rhythmic shimmer of threadlike ...