a copper skipper
perches on false dandelion
and sips warm nectar
high on haiku, I
map traffic patterns of bees,
trade routes of flowers
should I tell you where
the ripe, red raspberries are
or keep them hidden
lady bug larva,
you tickled my sun-tanned arm;
what fierce jaws you have
the poet's haiku
anchors the seasons inside
my body memory
thimbleberry fits
on the tip of my finger;
no, I mean my tongue
bumblebee on purple thistle blossom
flies away
before I can count her stripes
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