Dating : honey

There’s a high water line in the middle of the courtyard

Where once some wave broke and rolled back

And left this place standing.

The tree was here before this place

Where orange cats nap on green grass

And chase birds into trees

Where people hum and drift

Into these pale towers like bee hives.

Maybe it was honey that spilled out

And stained that tree

And goldened those cats.

Maybe this place has always been

Maybe the honey has yet to flood

I wonder if I’ll leave it still standing.