Your favorite pot this
a single bee
such a tiny weight
like a baby
in a swing
a spider string
of Inherent Vice
as the bee busy transpires
“by the sea, by the sea
by the beautiful sea”
milks this moment
line by line
to make honey
when blissful bee lands
on tipsy flower
branch, soft strand
bee breeze blows blue dust
never get much
done in this
this stillness this
red & white
like the bee
by the sea
They met in a salsa garden one hot summer day.
At night, they slept curled around one another.
One day, there was a salsa party.
Slide cursor over or click photo for text.
He slushed through the yard with the dog, Mosey,
looking for the salsa garden covered with snow.
A foggy down comforter was spread
across the cold compost pile.
Mosey gave it the once-over and waggled on.
Through the grey branches of the bald maple,
the wintry sun dripped a wet, molting light.
“I think I’ve found the salsa garden,”
Mosey barked, wagging through a snowdrift.
He found some green garlic starts,
planted last fall in hope of an orange day.
Over on the frozen patio sat the fable
of a red tablecloth and a bottle of sweet wine,
Mosey dozing in a patch of warm light.
He hears voices, someone’s recipe:
“Fresh cilantro, hot pepper, and black beans,
eight tender Roma plum tomatoes,
an inch of basil, a sprig of rosemary,
a dash of black pepper and a pinch of salt,
a dark green jalapeno,
and a mellow, cool lime.”
Sevenish on the heat scale, he thinks,
two fat, purple candles melting the snow,
Mosey barking, “Let’s go back inside now.”
They entered the kitchen through the side door,
dog wet noses sloshing snow and water,
dripping all over the stale linoleum.