Weary I’ve been laying on the terrace a while now

the pigeons took my eyes months ago in a vow

bees taking village now their place in a bellow

still my body lays insect fodder sinking low

silent seduction for nature golden like jiao

honeycombs encased inside lathering the brain and sockets rot

honey replacing my fluids since the springs surprisingly hot

a mix of orange and the brown of my blood patiently not

forever in greenery and trees the fields I’m an inkblot

familiar like a childhood scrap and now it’s fraught