Hornworm: Autumn Lamentation
Since the first morning I crawled
into the world a grubby thing,
and found the world unkind.
my dearest faith has been that this
is but a trial: I shall be challenged.
In my imaginings I have already spent
my brooding winter underground,
unfolded silky powdered wings, and climbed
into the air, free as a puff of cloud
to sail over the steaming fields,
alighting anywhere I pleased,
thrusting deep into tubular flowers.
It is not so: there my be nectar
in those cups, but not for me.
All day, all night, I carry on my back
embedded in my flesh, two rows
of little white cocoons,
so neatly stacked
they look like eggs in a crate.
And I am half eaten away.
If I can gather strength enough
I'll try to burrow under a stone
and spin myself a purse
in which to sleep away the cold;
through when the sun kisses the earth
again, I know I will not be there.
Instead, out of my chrysalis
will break like robbers in a tomb,
a swarm of parasitic flies,
leaving my wasted husk behind.
Sir, you with the red snippers
in your hand, hovering over me,
casting your shadow, I greet you,
whether you come as an angel of death
or of mercy. But tell me,
before you choose to slice me in two:
Who can understand the ways
Of the Great Worm in the Sky?
Stanley Kunitz