I saw the air this morning
Leap from water without warning,
Made of pollen which the spring
And open, unscreened windows bring,
Landing on our limpid surfaces
At admittedly cross purposes,
Falling from the heavens when
It really means to mount again,
A suggestive sort of sunrise
From the Kohler’s fluid skies,
Sexy particles that flounce
Around the hidden thermal founts
Which populate the steamy air
Above a bathtub’s glassy lair,
Come to pollenate the nude
With a field’s solicitude,
The workings of the heights made clear
In their lower hemisphere.