the following poem was written in response to above image-for online poetry class
poem submitted to "1456" poetry contest, Brian Strand, sponsor, March 25, 2026.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A single ant, black as charred bark, parts the silver skin of the puddle~ its legs dimple the water, each step a tremble of tiny ripples. The leaf, wide as two ants side by side, rides its back like a ship’s wrecked sail, tipping with the weight of a world too large to name. Legs piston through water, dark and wide, a sea to him, with this leaf, his bride. Each step is a tremor in the tiny world. A current whispers, but the ant does not listen. Shadows of giants loom above~ a boot, a wheel, the indifferent sky. The ant pauses, antennae tasting fear, then presses on. The far shore is a myth worth drowning for. Halfway, it pauses again~ not to rest, but to recalibrate, rearranging the world one stubborn millimeter at a time. The wind’s rough tongue licks at the load, yet still he drags his emerald barge to the far shore, to dry earth. The far shore is everything.
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