Morning routine at my desk.
Close to noon, a half-inch
insect, to me looking female,
starts up the high inside pane
of the northeast window. Three
light yellow legs angle out
each side of her body; white wings
stay folded. Now she tries flight
for two inches; her dark feelers
signal to stop. I stand up
to figure her arrowhead head,
bright red; then two black bars,
a miniscule equal-sign, athwart
the aft-end of her abdomen. Given
another state, under another sky,
a native trout might well rise
to feed on such finite grace.