The plight of the humble me
buzzes around like a bumbling insect
sharing fertile, fluffy pollen willy-nilly
or so it would seem
Sometimes, it sticks
eventually
bearing right-sized fruit
Other times, it does not
Loud and willful barrenness
where twigs once sprouting die
Apparent patterns shimmer
among the dappled sunlight
shadows play in humility
ever dancing past the music’s end…
