Amid the Garden’s Nightly Peace

Like Goneril, we’re all much
Smaller offstage, also much
Less evil. Words, like termites,

Both destroy and build, unlike
Dreams’ snouty, omnivorous
Weevils who only devour

Whatever fills whatever
They tunnel noses into.
We’ll steal your house but leave you

Towers of our own with fungus
Farmed at the bottom, farming
Us in turn, as all social

And cooperating things
Farm each other constantly.
Maybe you like to stay up

Or to get up before dawn,
Just to live a little peace.
Now you’re here, with us offstage,

Part of the exhalation
Between the scenes, when small things
Consume and raise new buildings.