before the storm
i watch as 24 bees swarm quickly
to their nest
tucked into the wall
of a house
they come from different directions
swooping out of the darkening sky
out of the painted forest
out of the creaky boards of the deck
they fly from the rumbling clouds
afraid
as i decide that if i had wings
i would fly right into the beating heart
of the storm and let it wrap me
in an absent god's tears
