energy once strung in the air
escapes to the forest floor,
but the fallen petals remain.
hanging lifeless in treacherous webs
where spider gullets rumble,
carried away by the bees
through the honey-combed sky,
dissolving into the stream
that once gave so much life,
despite Death’s patience
to release the molecules
into the guts of the gorged spiders
and the hives of the bumbling bees.
until then, we wait,
Death in an anxious fury,
as we stare into a graveyard stream,
where we get to decide what we want to see,
at least until the stream picks up again
or the weather turns and their bodies
are washed away
and their scales become the molecules
in our eyes, and we see
something else beautiful
for a while.
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