For my arachnophobic friends out there: hurry past the first illustration–I think spiders are pretty, but I understand that you do not!
Under the porches of the house,
amid the floor joists, posts and beams,
cobwebs and dust, dead mice and dreams,
there is a corner one last mouse
still nests in, where a little light
leaks underneath the latticed edge
that skirts the porches, where the hedge
holds lots of insects that by night
fill up his little rodent sides
and round his belly with their crunch;
this nest of his, I have a hunch,
will soon not be where he resides,
because, although he’s now grown fat,
it’s been discovered by the cat.
Bicycling up into a tree, I paused to see what I could see
between the branches, richly leaved, and saw, if I was not deceived,
a broad, expansive view indeed, and haply so, while I was treed–
but (Woe!) relaxed my braking foot and clocked my forehead on the root–
so, shorter ’twas than was my wont, this little arbor-biking jaunt.