by

There’s a swarm of bees, 

making honey out of the longing in my heart. 

If I make any sudden movement from fear, 
they will sting me in my softest parts. 

Only tension will draw blood.

The choice is mine,

Do I bow to the restless insomniatic monkeys, 
swinging in the dark corners of my mind — 

They seem to have gone mad with lust for a god who keeps on disappearing with the moon. 

What to hold onto when god herself is change. 

May I soften into an “acceptance”,
that is not “pacifism”,
That is not “complicity”. 
That is not that of a lazy mind. 

It is the starlight that swims in unison with silver fish when I touch wonderment.
A befuddled and unfettered mouthful of residue in the wake of her beauty,

It is the collective intelligence of the murmurs of geese in the sky, 
It is the way they do leadership from behind. 

In the face of 
A melting ice cap in our collective subconscious,
A soil that cries in her sleep,
May the skin of my mind expand beyond worlds powered by only sight,
Even if it gets more stretch marks on its inner thighs, 

May I deliver this love letter 
remixed into the posture of a good ancestor who 
walks beside us.

May it melt into one dripping chalice of loss. 

Into a love that only knows herself through a boundless impermanence. 

The waters of longing for a past life unlived. 
A presence unknown. 
What I will still be chasing after even when I shed this body.

A table spoon of honey upon my tongue,
a lifetime of work for one bumblebee.