Eat bees

The park couldn’t have picked a person on their way to ‘not in a hurry’
more accurately.
She strolled by the trees as if her knees were olive oiled,
she didn’t hold her fists like embarrassed daisies,
she bowed her jabber head
to the grappling knots of magnolia and jasmine,
the grass community,
the spying sun,
the frogspawn nugget bobbing
to the moss drip clock logic of the fountain
logging in runaways, lovers, letter writers.
Everything says its where it wants to be,
the feathers in trees
the hosepipe pythons hissing ‘ready spring’,
the baulestrade earth holding hands with some history
shows her a petri city
and she tells it she would rather eat bees
than leave.