Honey

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Photo by Rob Campbell

                                       
Honey

I awake and don’t know where.
Transported by whom or what, I don’t know.

This new land drips of honey
from the trees, the bushes and even from my beard.
Quiet permeates the air.
I’ve never been so calm.

I hike and see a giant hive of bees –
I’m not scared or tense. I’m hearing
words without voices. The bees say they are dying
and some of them were saved for here.

I know I will be sent back,
but I don’t know what is expected of me.
The bees begin to cover my body.
I am flying watching the moon’s other side.

Jerry Judge lives in Cincinnati with his rescue dog, Luna, who walks him twice daily. He also lives with two felines who, of course, rule. He has authored seven chapbooks and has been published in over fifty journals and anthologies. He has learned through experience that the only thing that counts is the next poem.

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