Clad in rags, running through the jungle with my sisters. Nothing can stop us. We eat what we find. We fight each foe we face. We come in many sizes and we do not build houses or dig nests.
At nightfall it is the bivouac.
Our house is our bodies. Our house is a body. Sometimes I cradle a young one as I run. Sometimes I ride with mother ready to bite.
The walls of our house can bite. The skin of our body has mandibles.
We flow, the ant-birds singing of our coming. As an army, as one.