You don’t know that they’re there
on your back. You don’t know that.
They web up into your hair
with the delicacy of dust settling on a shelf in the sun.
So often below feet, on ground.
It’s so important when they
climb higher. If they could
they’d climb a million miles
but nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand and nine hundred and ninety-
nine is so much more than one.
One at a time. They’re inching. You can’t see
them. There they are.
Inching and picking, and picking;
Ever so gradual their legs twitch
Every day is another one.