the bees are in the trash
again
and I have yet to flee
stale
stagnant
summer
airs
strange meiosis
soul from soul
take note
the bees are in the cans
Red oak
strange community
of woodpecker
squirrel and
ant.
I returned
to find I now
have a bee tree.
bees in cans
are beacons
harbingers
of a decaying summer
and hope of
a sweet spring
how strange
to find
such life
'midst the
cast offs,
dulcet
decay
of time
I note the congruence
of bees and cans
and sweet cycles
of time
outside
the ordinary
observation
of a life as it is lived.