Sundew: from that which
appears inconsequential

here you are:

tiny rosette of red

hugging this wet mound

of ground. here: where

I have learned

to find you: down

low where the winged

might land, wanting

your sweet nectar

to sip but stick

they do, stuck,

and your tentacles

hold tight,

so small and dewy

like morning’s

first soft and

harmless light.