Honey on My Feet

Earth, unfold the road I seek.

I find my lake in the sky.

I reach.

I cup my hand.

I drink.

Roses

—small wombs of nature—

birth beauty,

and burn with heat.

I walk my road,

and kiss each rose I meet.

I bury the bees,

their bodies scattered in the street

tiny labourers,

bleeding,

honey staining wings and feet.

I carry them. I wash their feet.

Soil, hold them to your chest.

Hum. And weep.

I pray for them.

I speak.

The road unwinds

rolling like fabric,

and I run like scissors:

sharp,

and deep.

I walk.

I sing.

I drink water,

and I do not cheat.

I bury bees.

I kiss roses.

I walk humbly.

I love my Lord.

And I do good deeds.