A year’s first rains would force out
The red velvet mites from the earth.
We loved to feel their velvety backs
With our kid fingers and keep some
In finely labelled match box houses.
We tried to side-step velvet hordes
In their procession to the mountains
But we would not know how many
We squished under inadvertent feet.
The little guys made no dying noises
Their velvet soon turning mud rags.
A day this way or that seems to make
No difference to essential transience.