In April
IN APRIL, I watched a bee float
Soft and graceful by my side.
Feather-tip wings grazed my skin
As he wondered at me.
I extended a hand, a finger to land,
To this creature we’re taught to fear.
As more joined — two, three, and then four —
I felt not afraid, but in company.
And as they hovered close, I uncovered the truth
That bees do not buzz; they sing.