The Bees

I put my mouth in the ground. It

nestled among tree roots. All of

history was in my hair. I’m not

religious. I’m as religious as the

wind. The bees inside me

sting my bones. I don’t get upset.

I keep honey in my throat. By

myself, in bliss, I pull the petals

off flowers. My toes are fishhooks

that entertain crickets. I don’t need

water. I don’t gargle. I flutter my

lashes and breathe over wilderness.