A tickle of whimsy visits me
in the middle of a scuffle
with a particularly stubborn writer’s block;
its intention is not to help.

The mantis is tiny, could sit on a dime.
It fits on my fingernail
and I bite those!
(I know, I’m trying to stop)

Never knew they could come so small
but I guess any infantile insect
would be (should be!) miniature.
I can’t help but let it crawl on me.

A fast little bugger, the mantis claws
for every new finger I give it,
before it stops to stare at me,
naturally curious, trying to figure me out.

Then the swaying starts, little side lunges
back and forth until it begins running again,
setting the steps of our intriguing dance:
scurry, stop, stare, sway, scurry.

Crypsis, I would later learn.
The sway is an attempt at camouflage,
tricking predators into thinking
nothing was ever there in the first place.

As if I could ever hurt you, little mantis!
I may be unfathomably bigger and able
to crush without any resistance,
but I am just as fragile as you.

It doesn’t take much to brush
either of us to the ground.
Someday I’ll get to the source of my weakness,
an agony buried deep deep.

Today, you are my latest theophanic joy,
a promise of peace to help balance the coming days
and I will never deny myself
any reason to put forth a smile.

You may be small and powerless now,
but that seems almost of no concern 
as you inevitably scamper on to whatever next thing.
I see no reason why I can’t do the same.