from Ordinary Work

3. Bee Counting

Central Park old beech trees begin to lose
their form

copper almost gold

the air turns sweet
bees panic

a day of sudden rain ends
the angle of the sun
along the shadowline:

a bowl tipped
on its side

_

Light seams down between the two darks

they play
at hiding each other: it becomes familiar

Listen, how we absorb the words
of immigrants

reel
them up

in this way all the world’s language
becomes yarn