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Frente Frio
December 13, 2010
Seventeen north of the equator
My bones creak like cubes in a plastic tray.
At our gate guardian bees abandoned
the tumbling pink display, a faded still-frame.
Nectar froze. Or froze perhaps their gilded fur.
Cold dimmed their wings. No buzz-line.
Suddenly I really fear: without our bees
Who will keep the thieves away?
2010 - 2019
Table of Contents
Recent Additions
The Moon Rises Full
Looking for a Man
Of Two Minds
Total Recall
Modern Times
Weary
Unrelated Lines
Early or Late
I Pause Enchanted by the World
What I Want
Portents
Autumn (2017)
Age and the Internet
Full Moon
Verses of Desperation
True Life Algebra
Dying
Butterfly Possibilities
End of the World
The Anti-Beauty Report
Curling Waves
Flor de Mayo
Patterns
Thoughts
Frente Frio
Passage
Fruit in Rain
More Poetry
The Agave Files
2021
2020
2001 - 2009
20th Century
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