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.