Pollen flutters— 

departing from its intricate flower home. 

It pirouettes with the fluffy clouds patterning the sky,  

harmonizes alongside the symphony of vibrant birds, 

plays among tissue-paper butterflies. 

It paints the grass a brilliant green, 

perfumes the air like an Easter bouquet, but 

then it gets to work. It weaves 

and entwines it’s way through long-forgotten wheel spokes,  

dusts over paint that was once fresh and putrid, 

wedges and shrivels itself in every crack of a motor, 

transforming a marbly purr to a choking wheeze. 

It conceals traces of what was once a much-loved stable, 

hiding the gentle convoluted twist of the thatched roof. 

Every year, pollen brings change, allowing memories 

of past potential to fade like light at dusk.