Two from May, so far

Raising Dust

 

thousands years dead

spring wind

I, here only for moments,

until I join the dust

 

now alive,

in this moment

I see them

rise, work, worry

 

heavy hands lift plows,

drive tractors,

others sit

a lifetime at desks.

 

The air shifts

they go

I am alone

this moment of life

I have:

 

Who raises my dust?

Who sees my wasted moment?

Not hell, dust.

 

Outside

 

our bedroom window,

honeysuckle

grows thick on

chainlink fence.

 

Thru the screened window

sweetness flows

to our bed.

 

Morning wakens,

the sound of bees

from one to hundreds

growing to a gentle

waking roar.

 

Yard full of dying

blossoms,

green fence,

summer heat,

no bees,

until May

comes again.