three six five ;

Deadliest month of Summer prayer wanes
in full moon, blasting nets of light
glimpsing on the world as a spur

of sunlight dews the nightly cold. In April,
we live by the rule of painting rural ceilings in sky
as the wasps take heed of warmth

blessed in their construction of nests.
Sky, is a blue one fears to condone,
too vast and endless, too beautiful

and senseless while the bees work
in obsession. Light grounds the blessed
beasts to warmth. The heart of a bee,

in a hive, stored in a queen who whispers:
protect me from the enemy my children,
surround them like light, and from light, feed

their wasping heat.

Dominique Santos