It's Still Life

A Bee Came Knocking

A bumblebee’s
knocking at the window.
Again.Again.
A useless joy
of a roaring boy who’s happy
to drop into a concussed disgrace.
It’s a black brush
with a yellow apron,
bright as a summer day,
or a gold bracelet.
Again. Again.
It hums a happy fumbling tune,
then drops into a tulip’s
feast-filled cup.
Nature feeds our need
for hope, where the sun
never clouds the sky,
and bumblebees
always come knocking.

my bonsai words twist
at my desk as I drown my joys
in memory’s feed.

for Miz Quickly’s “Time Out”