Out of the off ramp's empty green
an insect surging through my sight
stayed with my eye as I turned right,
exiting the traffic stream.
In flight, it had the headlong haste
that marks a June bug's bumblings,
a thickened disk with out-stretched wings
that seemed to bless the path it traced.
Then all at once, a swallow's there.
Wide-mouthed gape adjusting swift
accomplishes the beetle's gift
and, as suddenly, is empty air.
What looked it in the beetle's eye
when that dark figure filled the sky?