November 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.