They don't forget, a
Shape remains in apian
Brains but time emits
A mist in it --old scents
Drift out, inside out--
From petals such as
These and some confusion
Overtakes bees at
Inverted pleats, then
Light or heat disperses
Doubt --it rises, burns
Off fog, years, hours.
Summer returns with or
Without these strange flowers.
Bees adjust --I
Suppose I also must.
Always such a pleasure to read your poetry, Geo.
ReplyDeleteIt is difficult to compete with those bees, I know. But you'll give it your best shot.
ReplyDeleteWhat can I say apart from that was a bee-autiful little plant tribute!
ReplyDelete