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Untitled
Pollen flutters—
departing from its intricate flower home.
It pirouettes with the fluffy clouds patterning the sky,
harmonizes alongside the symphony of vibrant birds,
plays among tissue-paper butterflies.
It paints the grass a brilliant green,
perfumes the air like an Easter bouquet, but
then it gets to work. It weaves
and entwines it’s way through long-forgotten wheel spokes,
dusts over paint that was once fresh and putrid,
wedges and shrivels itself in every crack of a motor,
transforming a marbly purr to a choking wheeze.
It conceals traces of what was once a much-loved stable,
hiding the gentle convoluted twist of the thatched roof.
Every year, pollen brings change, allowing memories
of past potential to fade like light at dusk.
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