Leveler Poetry Journal
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Self-Portrait as Bird or Bee

 

I’ve built and burnt more

than a few nests,

 

there’s no reason to believe

I won’t do it again.

 

I wonder, if I start over, is there room

for you?  Or anyone who arrives

 

empty-handed, with nothing but an alibi

holding flesh to bone.

 

The snow retreats, then the ice.

Birds return and soon the moss

 

in all its careless green,

its erotic abundance

 

embarrassing the stone

that hosts it. When you turn

 

towards me, you turn towards

an untested theory,

 

much as the stone accepts

the blanket of new moss

 

without question, because this is about return,

and desire.  Or desire returned

 

in masquerade, in the form of a barren landscape

exploding, suddenly, with bees.




Leslie Shipman