textured like velvet
softer than a pony’s nose
dimpled with shadow and light
a blossom unfurls itself ever
in the midafternoon sun
as dawning dusk paints highlights
and folds shadow themselves rich fuscia,
pink battles magenta for my attention
as an ant balances anxiously on the underside
of a petal,
walking the line between in and
of the purview of the sun, unconcerned
with the study of optics but living
that can be rattled by a breath,

and I can’t help but to wonder how
what looks so rich and
feels so soft to me
is experienced by a being
living so microscopically
and then
in what capacity
am I insensate to things
just beyond the horizon
of my own innate ability

or even,
my mind’s curiousity