If we were flowers
germ lineage tucked inside our tissues
awaiting bee hunger
the sneeze of the wind
the skeletal legginess of beetles
Contact would be chance
pollinating
a third-party vibration
of dispersals seeking shelter
in ovules.
Laden languidly, blur rubbed to net,
a receptive, exposed stigma
tipped sticky with fingers that swell
into phallic depositors, would arrow
double-wombing embryo and endosperm.
How easy an abstraction
of air, a new generation
born of a season’s trance
for pink-lipped blooms
to open.
is a Pushcart Prize nominee for poetry, senior editorial assistant at The
Cincinnati Review, and an adjunct instructor of Italian at the University of
Cincinnati.