Tango Botánico
Awaking you, bee,
I’m awakened.
I’m your flower,
your honeycomb.
Production rises
like summer crops of
corn or basil
under skies of
Nerudian
turquoise.
Foxgloves reach up
high above us,
still we find ourselves
without shielding shade.
Our thirst drives us
to sit with silence,
to contemplate words,
to plead or give forth,
perhaps to self-
restrain.
We are careful
not to wake the
sleeping orchid,
his labellum
flanged, a milk-drunk
infant curling
tendril hands loose
beneath
his chin.
We tip-toe silent
past the crocus,
her petal eyes closed
in dreams of sparrows.
She sees them flitting—
oh!—so
brightly
by
Acknowledgement: “Tango Botánico” was first published in the Saint Katherine Review (Vol. 3.1&2).
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