Bee daisy, too,
bee butterfly bush,
though the fragrant

purple spears have
yet to make their
appearance.

All kinds of bees—
fat fuzzy ones,
lithe black ones,

bee-like hoverflies with
their three pairs of commas
tattooed on their backs—

all pollinators seduced
by the come-hither
blossoms begging

for a fly-by. The here-
today-gone-in-a-few
flowers create urgency

in those winging in
for a swish and a sip.
Or maybe it’s the other

way ’round—perhaps
the busy bees prompt
the blooming, their buzzy

business sounding
the call to the tightly
budded—”We’re here!

Time to come out
and play!” And they do,
insects and flowers like

kids on a playground,
full of motion,
full of light.