View
A white petal falls as the bee drinks
the Mandarin bloom then moves on.
Purple and red tin pots with orange
flowers hang from the top rail of
the neighbor’s balcony. Across
the unpainted fence a black and
white motorcycle passes for a moment
between two tan warehouses and
disappears. The sky is dove gray,
the ornamental pear tree leafless
except for a few of last year’s dead
leaves. Now a black and white dog
sniffs the green plants below the colored
cans of nasturtiums. Past the creek
lined with pepper trees and the great
eucalyptus where the owl lives
and the railroad tracks where no
train passes the mountain angles in
sloped steps from heaven to earth
when the soft rain slants down.
Spring
The single bee returns
with the yellow sun
to the Mandarin Orange
and its sodden brown
blossoms, my potted tree
starred here and there
with new white blooms
closed during the long
storms. Maybe only that
bee knows about their
nectar and remembers
the taste like drops of
sugar on a map. Air is
blue, sea clouds blown
east after 10 days of rain
turned the hills emerald.
English sparrows chase
each other, female flying
from the male’s pursuit,
the waters of the bird
bath still again as sky.
