farmhouseNovember 2010

Graffiti on a billboard in Queens:
Bless yourself.
I wrote the words down.

Once I talked
to a farmer who kept bees:
seven hives behind
his apple trees; the farmer stuttered
when he talked about
what the bees made:
honey
honey
a word he
almost
could not say.

Sweetness,
the hope of it,
the fact of it,
confounds.

Hard to bless
ourselves.
Harder
to let ourselves
be blessed.

Still.
All this light.

Coming down.
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