Bees in Autumn
The door to mortality opened
this life, not a dress rehearsal,
the chill stings,
the bites of bees in autumn
you have under a hundred sunrises
I have never felt more alone.
The way a switch flips September 1st
allowing chill air to permeate shorter days
a switch flipped announcing mortality
promising fewer days in a life unwell lived.
Overcome , she sang to the moon,
reflecting the sun, for just a little more.
A black sheep in a family of black sheep
the white sheep is the outlier
in that way more a black sheep than they.
Yet goofy otherworldliness reckons
not a sheep at all as sheep follow
rather than buck trends so not a sheep.
A quandary of misdirection, no connection,
except this section lately focused on mortality
an abnormality so young, glum features
definitely not a sheep, pulling wool, not cool
despair pools, where is goofy? No proof.
Still an outlier, but bipedally so.