((Photo Courtesy of Mikhail Pozin))

Favorite, ages three to five + 1/3
from nineteen now wilts on sidewalks
laden with own mother’s favorite,
ages twelve to God only knows. Remember
a day spent tour-guiding bloodline
through mid-slum splendor, “That hosta
is the size of all of us, laid-out,
hand-linked across flowered beds,”
my hopes to mimic professional shutter
speed, tailing pollenators for the spread;
Couldn’t we band togethers, function
for insect gloss, three-page fold-
out of wings reposed, glistening against
freshly-dew-dampened petals, just
begging for a silver-exposed shot?