Bee

  My mornings love me as I have loved the moon
    our time drips between fingers, stirring into tea
   honey and bees and the things we’ve gathered together

  from gardens of tale and tense, has and had
    things I mean to do and meant to say
   never have or never intend.

  The moon pulls tides and sheets over heads
    it knows the weight of me after days and days of lists.
  I throw shoulder into dream and storm, studying currents.

   7AM waxes through the clouds a season of planning
    and I am the bee stirring honey into morning routines
  thinking of today and already, of tomorrow.