POEM: The Dangers of Going too Deep

I watched a bee —
a rotund & buzzy carpenter bee
scoot its way into the deep cup
of a cornflower blue sky vine blossom,
nestling itself within.

When it had penetrated to maximum depth —
only the hind tip of abdomen protruding —
the blossom fell away,
plummeting leisurely — as light things do,
in a lazy spiral toward the earth.

And as the blossom and its captive bee
passed out of sight below my window,
I could only wonder about the bee’s fate.

It did not zoom up past my window
at the last possible second
with a pronounced doppler shift
in the manner of stalled aircraft
pulling out of a dive in a Hollywood movie,
but that doesn’t mean the bee didn’t escape

If it didn’t escape,
what would that crash be like?

A light-weight creature trapped in the soft folds
of flower petals, with a combined lightness
such that air-resistance cannot be ignored
the way one does in Physics problems involving bowling balls.

What would that crash be like?

DAILY PHOTO: Black-eyed Susans, Chicago

Taken in the summer of 2018 in Chicago

POEM: Hangdog Flower

A flower by a creek,
swaying like a metronome.
Its bright and bulbous head
sits atop a skinny stalk

Oh, are you counting time?
Or is time foreign for you?

Your scent rides on the air.
Your petals flame bright yellow.
Your every aspect
is a call for attention,

and yet you bow your head
like a dog caught in the act.

DAILY PHOTO: Yellow Water Crowfoot

Taken in April of 2012 at Yellow River Park