Peak Purpling

Listening with my eyes,

my skin, my wonder,

dazed and confused by the world, by my concussion

there is a clarity that comes in letting go of all there is to do today

the way is cloudy, yet my heart is clear

In the clouds of forgetting

In the clouds of unknowing

the way the bees know to return to the wisteria at peak purpling

It is beyond their understanding, following the scent of their buzzzing heart

there is an arrival for them and for me,

sitting with my listening

with my eyes, my skin, my heart

listening to the scent of spring—

A buzzing of belonging to the all-of-it