Through the low hum of bees
she wanders the fields of lavender
beyond the high-stemmed rows,
past purple corollas of pinecone
flowers, in her tartan frock; pockets
full of unanswered prayers─
with ladybugs scattered over opened
blooms and the white froth of spittle
bugs attached to unsuspecting
leaves. Here you’ll find her
immersed in the foliage, drunk
on the lilac aroma of earth’s
fragrant garden, where no one can
see as she bends to her knees
in search of a wizard, the maestro
of maestros, with unrequited
wishes that dissolve in the wind
like the foam of an insect, preying
mouthparts piercing unknowing ears