This morning I share a small bowl of very fine cannabis
with a praying mantis I find clung to my porch screen

She there on the outside, I face her soft underbelly,
through the mesh I stroke her legs and arms, antennae,
and admire that swivel-head so human 

I blow wafts of smoke her way, tiny shotguns, 
imagining her sharp inhales, filling her receptors, 
until she is giddy there in the pink sun rising, 
raising her prayers up

She swivels her head to me and I swear I hear
Got any cookies?

Chagall 2020