This is an excerpt out of “Entomology,” a poem that was published in The Lamp out of Queen’s University:
It seemed to cling to its stiff afterlife, hanging
with vanity, fear, and needles piercing its carapace.
The feelers still sprawled out like delicate fingers feeling
for a latch, but frozen once caught in the act of living.
To live by touch alone and scent, a menacing
figure of tenderness. The song it sung for its short,
rough-spun life. That haphazard start and the abrupt
end of its line, cut.
Its shine was spared. Free to wander through the insect
museum and gild obscure corners of our thoughts
with the cunning of lost things which grow great, but less.