Spread Out

There are pieces in that bush in the backyard
Whose spiky fronds turn pink on Sundays
And lavender under the fireflies. In the sap, the spittle of the spit bugs
And green horned things, aphids and spiders- there are pieces
In the homes of these many-jointed gardeners.
I believe that
Some pieces are carried by the bees- their hairy black and yellow pulling
Farther from home
Pollen and sexy particles which mingle and find damp pleasure in the earth.
Saplings sprout and I think
Pieces are also budded in the blooms, given back
To the bees, their queen, the joyous flight paths of those with wings-
Carrying things in feathers back to the foliage that’s green and never falls, leaving the Mountains coated in emerald.
Perhaps pieces dwell there as well
In a forest, hidden hill side cave and
In the smoke from the nightly fire keeping mosquitoes away.
I know that pieces of me are madly warring
Against wind, the breath of all mankind, a million exhales pushing
Clouds closer to tomorrow’s mystery where I must
Find, attempt to collect the elsewhere pieces and parts
On stalks and air and winged things,
In pine cones and places that can only be opened with fire.