don’t worry
about the trash in your yard
it’s not
from my yard
it’s from all the thoughts
that heap up
in the middle of the storm
whirling
with a gig of their own

falling asleep delirious from sickness
suddenly upon me on a cool foggy morning
I dreamt there was a bee around me
frantically trying to catch it as one
might cup a firefly in the palms
then realizing I could get stung I told myself
open your hands open your hands it will sting you
but they didn’t move for anxious moments
feeling the wings flutter the fat yellow black body
against my skin finally the sides of my hands
unglued I pulled them apart
and the bee hovered then flew

rain requires poets answer
typically I reply
often silent until
I have something to say
then you can’t shut me up
about who it is
that can’t stop crying
from the sky