And The Bees Dance

I have honeybees on my ankles

And bumblebees for eyes.

Flowers are blooming in my bones,

Pushing out of my pores.

.

There are carpenter bees

Gnawing away at my bones,

Excavating little bits of me

To make room for their new home.

.

Everything is buzzing

And I am bumbling around,

Caught in the vines of native plants,

Falling to the dirt.

.

They don't care about the crash.

The bees, they lift and hover and wait,

While I tumble down.

The grass swallows me whole.

.

The sky is pretty down here.

My skin, finally warm

From the buzzing wings

Of this black and yellow swarm.

.

Slender green stalks slip through

The gaps in my molecules.

They stretch their little hands skyward

And the bees follow.

.

Hooked feet, small and fragile,

Cling to the rapidly rising towers.

They pull on the opening petals,

White, pink, red, black.

.

It tips like the sun,

Bowing toward the horizon,

Falling into the milky gaze

Of eyes once vivid and bright.

.

What a beautiful picture,

The flowers swaying in the breeze,

Rooted to the still-strong fibers

Of my ribcage.

.

Look at the bees,

Look at how they dance!

They weave between the petals,

Waltz across the wind.

.

It is easy to get lost in their beauty.

Easier still to forget that they are a mark

Of my passing

And the years that have left.