HELICOPTER SEEDS

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...)