You, that flower barely blooming; I bear thy pollination.
It is my purpose solely to cause the fruit of thy creation.

Nano art, my pantheism is objective idealism. God is in the details:
the stamen, the leaf… all is fractal, some charmingly chaotic,

All scenery composed, each part of reality is a representation;
a word of the language of reality in her garden.

Her voice is sweet like the honey suckles. Pale like her petals.
All a play, a dance, a game to the night and the sun, and to all her beloved travelers.

And while I watch her, this star behind moon and trees, behind all that I see;
behind my very being. Reality, her character is through and through me.

And in the act of creation, flower and I are as her representations,
There is no thought to our most profound desires.

Innate will to live; our mother is the essence.
Death and life are her androgyny displayed