It Waxes, It Wanes

through the looking glass of seasons,
it's all a show of little things, the bits and candy fragments,
the pieces and rough shards.
i sift through it, like a wading pool, and stand back
to let it all in.
in the flower of spring it was just getting spread,
the dew,
and it was all stamens and pistils from then on out,
cherishing the pollen like sips from ambrosial cups.
through the lenses i catch spring slip into summer's height
and the sun has never blazed with such force,
the lava of our nights.
i don't want to smile on my memory of honey.
i want to drown in it.
asphyxiation is the salvation,
the sound of furious wings, million-beats, the sting.