Bees In Water

i think of a book title, but

take a sleeping pill, and speaking

of bees

in water, there

is a rustling of strange jackets, stomping

of strange feet, i hear dumb

buckles, dumb zippers

and i make up a book title,

and i think there are, i think

there must be voices buzzing up the

steps and i am still not sleeping,

first too loud, then softening,

creeping back from my door,

and the melatonin drains from my lymph.

i think of bees, i think

of water. i think i’m sleeping. i think of a book title.