A Scent

There, by the scented orange blossom, the
hovering  bumble bee stretches and
snaps Sir Isaac Newton’s law.

Agog in the summer air and
the content of its flow, that single
blossom, do you catch the scent of more?

When the elastic of all time-weighted things
torques, the baggage of minutes empties.

2 Replies to “A Scent”

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