A Botanist on Travoye

Some petals are kaleidoscopic.
Others make a low humming sound.
A few give birth to their own pollinators.
And there’s one whose flower,
bright purple and beautiful,
is to be avoided at all costs.

I’m no gardener, merely a chronicler
of vegetation unknown on earth.
I do my best to be there
where form and function meet.

One stamen is so glassy,
I can see my reflection in it.
Another nibbles at the soil
surrounding it,
not just the minerals
but the occasional stray insect.

Dawn sets some white-hued leaves ablaze.
Twilight locks down all but the most vibrant.
One pale-blue shrub hibernates in light,
is shaken awake by the planet’s two moons.

My notebook overflows with words and sketches.
My sample phials are filled with botanic lab rats.
This vegetation is my Christ’s-blood-bearing cup.
I evaluate its contents but I do not drink from it.