My edges are like bees
swarming, looking for a hive,
a single being. Something
scares them, they take flight,
hovering, my edges undefined,
anxious. My hair grows dark.
Your edges, more severe, sharper
focus. If I stand too close, or we
touch hands, you draw my blood out,
beads forming on the tips of fingers.
I try to smooth you over, it takes time
we just don’t seem to have.
Once again, the photo is from the über talented Thomas Bramwell. The bee lives in Golden Gate Park, and is not one of my resident bees, but the photo was so perfect I forgave him that. I couldn't help but upload the other bee photo as well. Enjoy:
after 3 weeks, I am still amazed at the diversity of your inspiration and writing.
ReplyDeleteJ
J -
ReplyDeleteYou are like the person standing on the sidelines at mile 18 handing me Gatorade and cheering me on. Thank you
B
That's so weird - I spent most of the day at work reading about bees. Coincidence?
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