Hot pollen snow
Clouds the soil like stars
Swirling around a galactic core

Gravity’s hand is pushed away
In favor of the cosmic breeze
Whisking them through the day

Leftovers from cast incantations
Spells from a book of maps
Full of blank spots

As it casts through the paths
Found by the pioneers
The world venators

Who rise to the challenge
Of slaughtering flora
In pursuit of discovery

They set out
And find what they’re
Searching for

Pollen dust
Billowing from branches
And weighted leaves

Like smoke from fire
Where there’s a forest
There’s a pathfinder

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