THE BEE

A lake that mirrors faithfully
and gives back my reflection
reflects my thoughts.

Oh water, essence of my being,
so still at times,
I dare not breathe.

I feel like sending you my soul, I think,
and right away become the droplet
and then as mist rise upwards
to the sky

while at the same time lazily
I lie among the flowers.

The air is still.

I feel
slight stirrings of a breeze.
A butterfly’s alighting on the jonquils.

I hear the humming of a bee I cannot see,
but sense quite near.
I hope it doesn’t sense my fear.

I quickly think, “Make honey, bee,
and let me be.”

Now I breathe in and out,
and ere I know I am the breeze,
and search the insect out.

“I do not mean you any harm.
See?  Here’s my arm.”