POETRY: Richard King Perkins II – Centipede


In early spring
a centipede crawls
across a branch
next to a bird’s nest
of blue eggs,
its segments aligned
like well-edited films
that seem so natural
to my eye.
It must be
a barely augmented
inspiration for
families or lovers,
moving separately
but together
through this tree,
and then forests,
pulled toward sunlight
and greenest leaves,
leaving behind
nests of blue eggs,
the chatter
of hungry robins.


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