dear stink bugs

i have always wanted to be you.
i never know where 
you come from & that is
part of your mystery. 
whenever there is a warm winter day
you seem to be born like living gems 
from the walls of the house. 
almost every spider web 
holds one of your silent machines.
inedible. your shield skin 
& leaf litter hearts. this morning
i find two of you crawling
on the paper lamp by my desk.
your silhouettes like ancient searchers.
scouts for the melon knife.
grinding the coriander 
between our bones. i am lying 
right now. there is only one of you
on the lamp. the other
is me if you would let me
set my skin aside 
for an exoskeleton. i apologize.
i know that it is not your doing
who is & isn't your species.
just like i do not decide
which trees get to be children
& which ones are ghosts.
let us go swallowing all night.
i know an apple tree
in the middle of the corn fields 
where no one will find us.
there we can drink sugar.
walk slowly as we please.
i envy your pace. the patience
of your legs. my partner tells me
i am always running. i know
this is true & yet in the moment
i just feel like i'm trying
to breathe. there is a crow 
in the branches for
all of us. i have to admit i have
smashed you before. smelled
your final reeking question 
lingering for hours after
i made you into an asterisk. 
i have my questions too. 
where would you return to
if you could? do you want to follow me
to the apple tree? i will bring
my spare legs & the antennae i grew
while i was waiting for the sun
to ripen.