Spiraling

Maybe the ant queen likes her life,
Well-fed and nearly motionless
Sedentary fecundity.

Maybe she feels power in her
Unbounded creativity
And loves her own monstrosity.

The artisan cranking tchotchkes
As if his hands were factories
Finds a steady satisfaction,

The pleasures of being able,
As he sits in his tacky shop
At his overcrowded table.

Haven’t you noticed the cosmos
Riffing endlessly on spirals?