apple blossom
if I were to disappear from here, beneath
the wing of the day, where the apple blossoms
emerge a whitish pink, and the bee hovers
mesmerised – where the hellos gather up
then spill open like flowers, and the bee
retreats as the light fades, the white petals
in the blue-dark, luminous, otherworldly,
they collect like memory, until we turn,
waving goodbye beneath the rising moon