when we dream we become lavender: a sonnet for the bees.

This seems like a good place to die 

surrounded by soft yellow petals 

and the cold that wraps around like 

a quilt.

Though there are still creatures here 

that bite, 

you are whole and safe. 

I want to wander here a while. To rest. 

And there's no reason I should not stay

to watch you as the seasons change

and you become something new.