Mending something

Opinions bring tears to some eyes
Fuming, their worldview dissipates
They ask that you keep them away.
My pinecones won’t eat your apples,
Said Frost, or something to that effect.
Why not see if we can make a spell
See if we can balance our stones,
Build something great instead of hiding
Behind walls of barbed wire and hate.

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I can’t help but look at people’s politics
Like a voyeur watching the curtains twitch:
Every sentence, sentiment, snare
Knee deep in thick cement I stare. 

Philosophy
Politics
Poetry

Flesh
Blood
Bone

Bees

I tore out the agapanthas
Leaves sawn, thrown in a heap,
Butchered the roots with a pickaxe
And stuffed the brainy clumps into bags.

The wormy soil left steaming in the sun.

The bumble bees return to find the ruin where their tunnel entrance must be.

The compost, the horseshit, trowels and seedlings abandoned in the shade.

We shall forgive these trespasses.  The chaos and confusion.  The blame and retribution and look not upon the sap plastered pickaxe, but, in horror, still disbelief, at the bees trying to make sense of it all.