03.06.21 - 1:47 p.m.

from what am I meant to abscond?
or with what, into the mountains, leaving my
brass tchotchkes on the ground. the bees
have bearded, non-committal, and stayed
awaiting death. during cherry season, warmth
lets us beat our wings in place when home
is here, we have only to look up. stupid people
would see heaven, not a literal structure with
its own messes, ready for the corners to be swept
ready for the bodies to be dragged onto the porch.