killing bees, remembering the dayswhen December 30

killing bees, remembering the days
when I used to wake up in the morning
and look at you – fluttering about, singing soft songs with your eyes.
the limits of perseverence, being accused of being myself
refusing to accept that we are walking on tender threads,
we have to walk softly, walk softly.
the day windows will bang shut,
obselete hopes will become the sad ashes, that they are.
my mind has to diffuse, all thoughts have to be scattered
sight must be pink and rootless.