Do not scorn the insects.
Ask instead, “What is the size of a spirit?”
Man sized, spirit,
I say,
Or, eyes all afire,
And, too small to be seen,
Stiff hair flying,
Wearing a wildly painted mask.

Size of a monster, perhaps,
Stamping, snorting,
Itching for a fight,
Size of a jungle,
In the green fire-light?
A single, looming eye,
In the sky,
Giant sized the spirits run,
As in times gone by.

What do the temples say,
The temples with mouths the size of doors?
What say the gargantuan Olmec Heads?
What says the Pyramid of the Sun,
Where men turn into gods?

Smaller than the pick,
Of the firefly’s light,
In the night.
Size of a spider’s smile,
Small as the heart of a seed,
Of a weed,
Size of the spark,
Which moves the Morning Star,
The Evening Star,
The Wishing Star.

It has been said,
And, I believe it,
The spirit weighs,
The same as an insect.
“Which insect?” You are going to ask.
“Which spirit?” I will have to answer.
The spirit of a man,
Is the size of an ant.
An ant, an ant.
The size of an ant.
Well, what is the size of an ant?
A black ant, red ant?
A jaw snapping fire ant?
A South American Army Ant?
A little, leaf cutting, foraging, farmer of lichen?
A nightmare ant?
An ant the size of delirium?

The spirit of a man is the size of an ant,
Because, this allows it,
To come and to go away freely.
The spirit of resurrection,
Is the size of a scarab beetle.
Such a tiny thing, it seems,
To power the whole world.

And, the breath of a man,
What is the size of his breath?
The breath of his life,
The size of his life?
And, his words,
And, his thoughts,
His reason,
His wind and his mind?

His breath is the size,
And, the shape of a serpent,
An elephant serpent,
Serpent the size of a mountain,
The size of the sea,
Transparent as anything you’ve ever seen.

This is our being,
And, this is my poem.
Who knows where size it may be?
It, too, is away, like a word, like a bird,
Like a soul,
Like a shiver along the spine,
Without a reason, without a rhyme,
Just like a murmur,
Too small to be seen.