november sunday *as poem
cut through with the light of the day,
cut-clean-through.
bees in flowers,
bees drinking at the waters edge, grumbly feet,
pollen-covered
and clean.
sipping flowers. heaviness of heat on skin,
my body not noticed in days. all the places i hold like a broken bone, a rib,
a heart ~ not necessary. i've just been making a fist,
clenching tensions of a thousand fears. surrender,
say the trees, glistening leaves slicked back with light.
surrender, says the day,
november sunday, dark with light.
cut-clean-through.
bees in flowers,
bees drinking at the waters edge, grumbly feet,
pollen-covered
and clean.
sipping flowers. heaviness of heat on skin,
my body not noticed in days. all the places i hold like a broken bone, a rib,
a heart ~ not necessary. i've just been making a fist,
clenching tensions of a thousand fears. surrender,
say the trees, glistening leaves slicked back with light.
surrender, says the day,
november sunday, dark with light.