Dancing Bees

Winslow Road was where the white house stood
swelled and quiet once until
bare toes tap on wooden beams
ankle snaps loose splintered feet

Where pine crumbs drop across the creek,
leaves drape quietly as secrets keep

Toward iron hasp, I bend an ear
but all I hear
is the tickle of bees dancing
in my stomach

Behind several eyes, they carry
a curious flickering light

I fumble words with grit, and grin
the humble humming halt of a whirl,
then twirl away the tension
from entwined silence

Devoted, they crawl
from my mouth

Vibrating sweetness
breaks into song 
at the tip 
of my tongue 

When the bees hold their spit
When the bees stop dancing