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Bark Beetles: Seven Boring Haiku

Walking in the pines,

I find a message in a

beetle gallery

Etched on to a log,

in inscrutable scrimshaw.

There's a story there.

I can't translate these

Runes from a different language,

a filagree code.

These beetles and I,

we sit on separate branches

of the Tree of Life,

They chew on their branch,

I dangle my feet from mine.

Same idea, I guess.

Then, it dawns on me,

the message in the lacework:

"Don't call us boring."

Bark beetles don't fit

In seventeen syllables.

They need a whole book.


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