When the Prince Kissed

When the prince kissed, it started things again—
out of cracks and cocoons and sacs of silk
small lives moved; all the spiders began
weaving designs, and ants climbed up to milk
aphids that once more dined upon the rose.

The silverfish resumed its lunch of clothes,
fleas that had stopped mid-sip swilled blood from the dog,
a fly continued to crawl along a nose,
and others buzzed and swarmed on horse and hog.
Even the blissful princess had to scratch

a bedbug bite that turned to a reddening patch.
The pond's suspended life stirred under moss.
The kiss had clocked the time for mosquitoes to hatch,
and for threads that had suddenly sprouted to skitter across
the lid of water slid on invisible pests;

flesh-fed wasps tottered out of their nests,
a scent of roses roused the bees that had dozed
deep in their golden hive to their honeyed quests,
and the butterfly wing, unwinding, also disclosed
another reason not to believe in death.