At the mega-store with the 11% discount
and John Deere green façade we park
in front of blooming trees bearing
quivering cones of creamy blossoms
air redolent with some flavor not yet
created by the nearby Baskin-Robbins

I wander over to the median to see
if anyone put up those metal plates
like they install at the Arboretum
listing genus and species (the better
to steer customers to the adjacent nursery)
but there is nothing to hint at a name
neither first nor last but a United Nations

of bees hovering happily eschewing labels
intent on gathering pollen before lumbering
into the wind so I content myself with
breathing in this free aroma therapy
marvel at pyramids of top heavy tilting
cones that yet do not spill the way four
flavors topple into laps and onto ground

these vanilla towers more kin to lemony buckeyes
waving back in leafy woods, strangers to this
parking lot with its shimmering oases
hosting these slender trunks, circles of shade
I step into trail fingers in unnamed fountains.