a poem for a quiet winter Monday, dreaming of summer and easy love

pollinator
Susan Windle

heading for the scent
of what i love
i land
on a wetness
that sends me
tumbling
to the bottom
of your cup

though i slip,
though i stumble,
though i bear heavy,
bewildered wings,
i find in you
a slender door
i narrow myself
through
your needle’s eye
the walls of your world,
soft and supple,
push me on
to that sliver of light—
where day
breaks over me at last

i am coated
in the fragrance of such love
i go
with good news
on my back

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