Leafhopper on a leadplant:
stuck to a stem thrust through dirt
chafing beneath bluestem that whispers,
“wildfire.” The leafhopper does not understand.
I will devour the meadow, yet nymphs
will still see sun. The nature of things:
light licks grass, bugs crawl and sing,
I devour and am consumed in return.
Even without the snap of match, everything burns.
