I wrote, day after day, about the bee
in the begonia – bees, I should say, though it was only
one at a time, amid the many blossoms.
I took pictures through the window with my iPhone:
even a little movie: now here, now gone.
Of course there were bees in the flower bed at home
on the dahlias, marigolds, and black-eyed Susans—
honeybees, bumblebees, and the tiny green metallic
sweat-bees, clouds of bees in the neighbor’s lavish
wind-tossed overgrown English lavender.
But the companionable bee outside the window