Bees fly by our wavy green window
fuzzy gold comets on solar missions
stitches of insects are more magical than sparkles

And the light of sun on the wind water of trees
olive diamonds flop in and out
like frankincense Saturdays

I remember pictures of boy scouts camping
unloading Grandpa Ireland’s VW bus
technicolor apples of their cheeks
the daub of a palette knife
gulped in a throat

In my mouth, the rock taste of water
the eyelid of a lip
divining rod in the secondary growth forest
paths tangle in my eye
woman girl

– Lady, 10.30.2022

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