Into the Warm Air

I want to be swept away by the golden bristles of a corn broom, floating on the currents from a languidly turning fan on a Southern summer night.

I want to be picked up by the honeysuckle breeze, riding drops of nectared pollen that plummet from a bee's overburdened legs.

I want to fall into a micro-pool on a cloverleaf petal, swimming with organisms too small to be named.

I want to evaporate off a magnolia blossom with the morning dew, fogging the glass of a hothouse that held winter tomatoes.