A sticky veil of yellow pollen
blew and rested on my uncertain future.
I saw it was the very stuff of life,
whizzing minutia, carrying
all the potential of a flower.
For a moment,
I thought it was
What an insect am I!
Unable to give thanks for my yellow-
pollen blessing. But joyful tears make
my eyes swell, and my songs of praise
sound more like sneezes these early days.
I want to want to douse myself brilliant
in this powdered promethean soup.
And when I shout,
why can’t honey come out?
Cover Image by Roma Kaiuk