Pollination.

It looks erratic this flight

Translucent wings trace the air Destination a red dot On a random map; Gestures lost in cuneiform antiquity.

Mere observation fails To reveal her obscurity Beckoning in hidden frequencies Amid the grace of Nature’s waltz; Whirling gestures mark A grand and timeless dance Begun before we knew; The start of all we see Among the urgent flowers And their dusty magic.

They come and go tirelessly And give and take and give, Each fitting like a puzzle piece; A kaleidoscope of intricacies Which we do not own but borrow,  Out there in the secret world Where all is made.