Sunday, September 15, 2019

Thoughts about eternity when I see the bee

A bee's wing rubs the hot tub's edge,

an autumn leaf her burial rug

she looks to be napping

but upon inspection,

it's clear she's freshly drowned.

Her legs folded awkwardly

like a crumpled ballerina.

The plump bee needs no more air to drive her.

Trillions of her kind have supped the planet's flowers.

She matters no more nor less than any other bee

or any other flower or any other planet

or than me.

We are equal in our brief hunt for sweet.

In untold sunsets, we'll return together,

this bee and me, our shrouds of matter,

specks and sparks spinning in the furnace.

Our common destiny to drift from star to star

without a single memory.

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