*  *  *  *

We are still wearing our forest 
colors, a grove of light playing off shadow
printed on this tree shirt. We ask, if politely,

whether we care enough to withstand it,
whether we are still welcome: tiny saplings, 
fresh to this glade and these pollen bearers.

We buzzing because we arrived here
having already taken root; our futuristic
hum the same insect shuffle and tangled antennae.

See, this one carries a leaf to the hive.
This one has wings folded, stripes.
This one, of all of us, to fly.