Worker Bee
You have
been here one month
lying on
your back, unburied
leg raised
skyward
blackened,
mummified
fallen,
mid-flight
wings
intact— upon
a shroud.
Faded, yellow
tablecloth
covered with
imitation
black-eyed
susans
on the
raised platform of a deck
hidden from
the sky
under the
protection
of the
overhang
your life’s
work, divine purpose
one drop of
honey beside you
fossilized
amber
gold gleaming
in the sunlight.
No comments:
Post a Comment