Perhaps the body holds its own swarm of bees
that feed daily on the sweet gaps between
words and what they mean.
Maybe the soul isn’t something we’ve stopped
depending on – a nothingness on the horizon
sinking below the surface of a conversation
that began thousands of years ago
in the rumbling of a foaming stream.
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I know that swarm of bees...they thrive in my head at night when the day chatter falls away...lovely image Liz.
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