As most of you know, my preference is for close-ups and macros of garden life. I can see so much more with the camera than with my naked eye! I wrote this poem after witnessing the aftermath of a crab spider's mating ritual - complete with tiny corpse of her ex-lover. I thought of the camera itself as a sort of partner, a bit like a sadistic companion who enjoys showing his significant other all the nasty little secrets that hide beneath a beautiful surface. But of course, he can only reveal what she allows him to capture.

A Gift from Olympus

He sees much more than eye (mere human, I);
translates infinity from cellulose
through stem and leaf, in garlic bud and rose;
can solve the echinacea's math, or spy
on spiders clawed like crabs, whose partners die
for love - their ichor drained as fee. He knows
the quick convulsions that attend the close
of neck-snip jaws on moths who cannot fly.

He captures, without asking if the price
exceeds the purchase; never needs to learn
regret for severed carapaces, mice
a cat has dropped, one fallen honeybee.
I feed him dyings. He, in fair return,
extends his glass - half light, half cruelty.

Brenda Tate