A gardened node
Stands in a bushel of bees.
His is a plot they dare not enter,
brimming with light, rich and deep
but detached from the noisy hum.
He is my point of reprieve, a dazzling coin
in a dizzying well. He sits on
a window ledge from which my
Two-pronged thoughts long to dangle. Instead
They dart in each direction before they know
They dare not cross the street
For fear of being squished.
Stands in a bushel of bees.
His is a plot they dare not enter,
brimming with light, rich and deep
but detached from the noisy hum.
He is my point of reprieve, a dazzling coin
in a dizzying well. He sits on
a window ledge from which my
Two-pronged thoughts long to dangle. Instead
They dart in each direction before they know
They dare not cross the street
For fear of being squished.