To Ensure the Living Live On

Puffs of pollen erupt,
wind-blown from arms of pines –

yellow grains let loose, 
sprinkling earth, wings, water—

blueprints for brand new beings –
love letters to existence.

Something inside the cells of every cone of every tree
wants to keep this all rolling –
not just the pines
but also the bear rubbing his back against cracked bark,
the owl nested in the hollow,
the squirrel barking while guarding her stash,
the song that rises in the grove.

Something inside the cells of every cone of every tree
commits to scattering the possibility of life all over this place
and what seems like excess has its purpose—
to pepper leaves, to dissolve on tongues, to jack up the feral ones
with vitamins and androgens –
aphrodisiacs urging and urging the procreant urge, and yes,
it coats our windshields, yes,
it makes you sniffle and speckles my keyboard, but God,

I love a good testament to Love.

I’m not sleeping tonight—why should I?
The loons are singing across the lake,
pollen in my hair, on my skin,
and the stars above in their never-ending abundance.

I stumble in darkness over grass, gravel, and stone  
down to the water.
I plunge into ink and silver—

dense constellations of pollen even here, underwater,
tapping my face as I swim out and wonder –

what pine-like giants
are on the shores of the black sea overhead,
shaking their manes

and shedding stars?