The moment you tell me you want a simpler life
I catch myself holding
my breath again
& the wing-quicken
flutters within my lungs,
two suspended sacks
of drone and your voice.
The words I can’t
(won’t) say are failed flight,
bees batting
against my ribs
without lift, without rise.
I close my eyes, exhale,
& seal each unspoken syllable
in wax hexagonal chambers
& fill my limbs,
my tongue with quivering
comb. How long until I am
the furred lip of flower,
pollen spiraling in sunlight
through an open window?
Zephyr turned mistral?
A flurry of notes we sense
but cannot hear?