These
others have razed the soil
There
is nothing here but meditative nutrients
Awaiting
an ovule to seed like a miraculous swarm of bees
Full
of honey and stingers
Biding
out the pesticides for an aperture
In
this land to part the fissuring stones
To
place a yellow and black pair of wings to flutter through
Like
a margin for error that all this contemplation was purposeful
Peaches
and lemons existing like a break in the clouds
To
zest pulp for the tongue and scintillation for the mind
The
daring of hope that the grand numb is not so impossible
To
be seen as one is and be not despised but encouraged
To
the path one desires
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