Green Lacewings

Single eggs ripen on one-inch stalks:
flakes of dandruff impaled by hair-ends,
budding cannibals saved from each other.
Each larval back trumpets its camouflage—
layers of spat-out prey: a model
for waste disposal; bizarre art form.
In maturity, essence of lacewing
repels the nosey; undisturbed they work at
liquidising assets: lerp, aphid, thrip
pincered then drained to husks.
So far, more macabre than inspiring …
But the look of them! If angel wings derive
from swans, those of fairies owe much
to chrysopta—each silk-veined oval
a fixed sea danced by pearl and amber.
For take-off, glass leaves at every angle
scale a wall of air, or loop backwards
as if caught by a tailspin wind.
With their bodies, spring's softest green,
eyes of gunmetal and gold in shrimp-heads,
they live brief, voracious, exquisite lives.