fruit tree

a short poem about that feeling when you look at bees or the light or something like that

In the backyard, there is a tree buzzing heavy with bees and sweet air
They frantically feel each fold, tap the leaves’ veins, nuzzle the soft rainbow of the browning blossom petals

Some lay on the ground motionless
having loved both mechanically and organically
devoted hollowed bodies carried off by the ants

The condors glide in the space between my head and the airplanes
When I lie still for too long, they think I’m dead

I can’t be dead, I’m luring the angels out from my water glass
The light spills something sacred onto the dirt, mathematical and holy

And the bees with their light-soaked wings, and the tiny, tiny veins that look like cities inside the leaves
and the condors hovering under the sun and over me, translucent tips of their wings, and I didn’t even tell you about the white moon with its lakes stamped over the blue sky, yet

Everything really is just
I mean really

Some moments, it grabs me by the knees
All that there is to do is:

-lie still enough to look dead
-and feel love’s tide when it rises and sloshes around in my wet ribs