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