Milkweed mechanics —
the stalk, husk, seed, fluff, and wind,
like a bird perched, flown.

The sky in the pond
doubles the soft, changing day,
ecstatic with blue.

The thoroughgoing
of the June fritillary
on the milkweed bloom.

Milkweed universe—
double-dressed scented flowers,
all insects in love.

I don’t need more proof,
I’m not owed anything more
of luck and beauty.

Milkweed globes forming—
I could break into cartwheels
under the June sky.

They want to take off,
milkweed seeds I’ve collected—
built to fly and bloom.

Impossible seeds,
the milkweed sends each one out
into this plain world.

Half moon of a moth
on the delicious milkweed,
sun setting ahead.

Deep milkweed chambers—
like a house or a soft heart,
doors, windows, open.

Milkweed for James Wright—
revealing delicacy
from a clamped hard shell.

Husks of milkweed blooms,
rough and gray like beached seashells
let go of soft seeds.

Sharp, confiding thing,
moth on new pink milkweed blooms—
something that makes sense.