Frolic Gentle Observer

A walk through the
neighborhood
is actually more like
frolicking
through the neighborhood
i stop
to watch bees
diligent and effortless
in their work
dozens of them appear from
the orange poppies
then reemerge elsewhere—
there’s no telling how many
a car door slams and i think
how silly or
simple i look and i
get embarrassed
for being the
gentle observer—
so easily amused
but we shouldn’t
be embarrassed, the gentle
observers, in being able to
take joy in simple pleasures

pass under a horsechestnut
look upon the mace fruit
green with youth and i know
because science tells me
that the fruit is the product
of the flower, that is, the
fruit comes after the flower,
i can’t help but think that
perhaps the flower
is a veil around our attention and
that the fruit was there
ripening all along
and with the withering of the flower
the fruit emerges like the bee
under the scope of our attention
and i think. . .
perhaps that’s all i’ve ever been—
a gentle observer