A poem holds your hand

A poem holds your hand
It whispers come-gather
These windblown fruits
Eat of this sun's lather.

The bee stamens sting,
It's like a gloved fist.
And, like the poet's pen
Must die a little to coexist.

Vertigo dizzies itself on a cleft
Like a blackbird in full song
The chorus is short-lived:
But its echoes are lifelong.