There is mountain in the air
while bees rake what's been cut
clouds are faster than the trees
but branches still can strut.
Lawn sketched out
canvass for bees, uncut
around the flowers.
Paisley art framed by the green
sanctuary towers.
The queen arrives to salvage
drones enjoying home
he trudges to the living room
wife owned and his kingdom.
Stretching out in cotton shorts
flowering underwear
a neighbor might come over soon,
pollinate with stares.
His woman arranges water
and conjurs up some lunch
as he cranks the stereo
Tibetan monks his bunch.
Subwoofer aum vibrates the floor
large summer storm arrives
lightning in the neighborhood
no circuit boards are fried.
Later walks across the street
steaming under the sun
letters in the mailbox for
the previous resident.
Car goes by eyes smiling
honks to see him there
adult home in the area?
nice print the underwear.
His mind a cave no flowers
filters flown somewhere
he turns and views his real estate
his feet right hot and bare.
Trees are bright with shimmer
they welcome him in waves
twelve hundred feet up in the air
his wife looks out the cave.
Robins, Blue Jays, Hummingbirds
watch her near the fence
where she put their feeder
daily recompense.
Richer may not get to this
old age and gentle days
he now stumbles into it
while living day to day.
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