19 September 2025
day in a diary
bling quartet
bright stuff
no rhyme
only reflections
the bee’s territory is
ruemannesque
subfluteaceous
an iconic prairie
a bee has enough brain to be a god
they remember a face
keep score of injuries
calculate the sun
they suck sweet
and know their way back to what matters
…
not a good day today
but the treeline the passage of clouds
whelmed sufficient to my grief
where i come from the grey goshawk is white
the only pure white raptor ever,
from invisible patrol beneath a cloud
it drops beak-first onto the neck
of this small animal
and flies away with my delectable head
which had been chatting in spacetime with my son
while next to him his daughter perfected herself
at her cosmetic console
ready for a day of eyes of other girls
and guys and lenses, many phones
strong in her skin she will survive
across her tan she wears catches
of pure white fabric
and round her neck
the cashmere scarf
she stole from her sister