a bee
gathering pollen
flower to flower
touches the trigger hairs
of a venus flytrap
in the din of voices across the crowded room—in the sum of my consciousness—two smiles engage for the briefest of moments. that’s all it takes: magnets attract steel; brainwaves absorb the blow. we, the restless, seek to do no harm, yet we aim for the heart.
the fletcher
adds flights to two arrows
made for Cupid . . .
you and i with targets
on our chests
