bees&TREES

There at the bottom of a broken tree limb, bees swarm. Honey drips.

Thirty-five feet up, a split has happened. In this split, bees swarm. They don’t stop.

There is a separation. There are now two worlds. It smells like rain.

They keep moving. The world has changed. And still, nothing is different.

Without Relent,
Peace
Remoy