Into Seed

The maple seed that limps down from the sky on its one desiccated and hard-veined wing battered insect of the spring; the common dandelion holding listlessly its hundred spiderlings with silken hair and white, orphans soon of air; the windfall apple's hard drop and curl along her bias, and the smooth red haunch turned up as if to say, come and sup; here is the crisis of ingenuity and chance, the pilgrimage to dirt among the next year's poems, unsprung.