lights scrolls across an unmade bed，
we were setting out for Aries
in paper planes （white dwarf stars
bright in a wilderness of wish scatter
white feathers among me， fistfuls
of light）： bees busied themselves
with the seen， moment's
multiple tasks， for the pollen， honey
in the blood， bees would drown
each day： from a thicket of nos
to one sepaled blossoming， all
in an afternoon
you thought of bees as summer