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.