nothing can be
slippery. out of a thin
blue sky (it’s always
something), the biggest black
-est beetle can fall
flat on its back,
four spindly legs
wiggling for a hand
(or a stick which I have
at hand) up. righted, it stands
unsure till I turn away
and then it slips confidently
back to the nothing (or
something) from which it came.
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