Perhaps in this seasonal bout,
Of hay fever, you will find in your nasal voice
A cheer to spur yourself, to go out to the garden,
To see the floral display,
All of nature’s butterfly attractants
Learning that pollen is just,
The softest art of letting go voluntarily,
Using the master trickery of glue.
A tradeoff of lip-smacking honey
With grains of pollen. And in this
Duality of color and shape,
You rest in the periphery, as the only beast,
Looking at a bevy of beauties, striking poses
Suckling nectar, and all you want to do,
Is to freeze time, lock it all in,
Where time is in-sequential,
Learning the soft science of petrology
In her sedimentation onto reel.