
Head in the flowers,
working to save the planet—
bees don’t make a scene.

Head in the flowers,
working to save the planet—
bees don’t make a scene.

Showing off like teens,
catching sunsets in their hairs;
old suburban homes.

Worthy of worship,
the tree outside the chapel:
halo around it.

Laundry rejoices—
diamond blazes in the sky
in depths of winter.

Soaking up the sun,
veins reviving in the warmth,
young peas look alive.