Why does a honeybee fly?

Perhaps only to feed on the nectar of orchids,

or to dance a dance of thoughtfulness with the tulips.

Maybe because flightlessness is most fearful.  


What motivates, and what drives?

Pursuit of the grandeur of the Iris,

to rest as the dew on a rose.

Thoughtlessness as blissful as sunrise.


Do forces of will, or faculties of nature guide?

Maybe the downpours hinder, and the drought’s what leads.

It is never lost; perhaps direction is a fiction.

It works, tirelessly, but closure is like the allusive clover.


Always so busy, but why?

For the sake of the queen; for the warmth of community.

For importance’s sake, or to fall from sunlit comb?

Truthless toil like moon-shaped reason.


What has caused our paths to cross?

Motion, direct with meaning, more full than springtime comb.

Weightlessness heavier than the mourning lilies.

Perhaps you hold it captive.