Spinning gyroscopes of spring,
Girls rise swirling on the wing:
Floating dandelions, unplanted -
Their meaning being just to land.
When umbrellas tumble from a gentian,
Is it just to get attention?
Is all that windblown fluff a blitz
Without the reassuring Google hits?
Is the goal of simple flight
To titillate the inflorescent sight,
The raison d'être of a seed
Purely adolescent need?
Must all destiny be manifest,
Our souls themselves just second best,
As if "to be or not to be"-ing
Were only based on viewers seeing?
In a second's kiss the test of Ever,
Where Never turns to Everest?
Is love created by a prayer?
Do milkweeds while because we're there?
Or for plumose salsify to fly,
Its parachute must catch our eye?
Can a tree of heaven really care
That the ground is even there?
Does a hop seed realize
That it's missing ears and eyes?
But would you criticize a kapok tree
Because it lacks urbanity
And doesn't really have the wit
To see when someone's chopping it,
Or, even worse, to know
When it's fallen in the snow?
Do we have to rate a bird
By whether it's been fully heard,
Or only focus on a nest
When it's noisier than the rest?
Or is the emphasis on sight and sound
About the dark in which we're bound,
As if the nucleous of all creation
Were the opposite of observation?
(Not to say it isn't chic
To reck the rede we sometimes wreak,
Like those high flown girls who, flippant, fell
Upside down in kiss and tell...)