Poem-A-Day April 27: a group of ladybugs

on loveliness

i read somewhere

that a group of ladybugs is called

     a loveliness. and i wonder

what the person who gave them

that name (surely someone of at least

     measurable humanity) knew,

or thought they did, about what love

—what kind, specifically—so embeds

     itself in a thing that the thing,

subsequently, becomes an embodiment

of that love: the way river breaks into current;

the way trees make forest, simply

     by standing closer to each other

than to anything else…

     …by which I mean: i need you

to tell me which of my black spots

     you find loveliest. which interruption

of my red feels most human

to the forest of your fingers; the current

     you river into touch

along my breaking skin.

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