I've been sitting up late, thinking and writing, after a long day of work, both at home and out. When it's late I like to read poetry; it seems to sit easier in the dark hours of the night. This is from Brian Turner's work, "Here, Bullet". If I keep posting these it is because I love his work and I think you would, too. This is called "Jameel". Cowbirds rest in the groves of date palms,
whole flocks of them, white as flowers
blossoming into wings when the wind rises up.
Thistleweed bursts open in purple
while honeybees drone and hover
over the yellowing, early-summer field.
They say to produce one pound of honey,
bees must travel from flower to hive
at least twelve thousand times.
Such patience, waiting for this storm
to be carried over the far mountains,
where the earth darkens and the sky lowers
and cowbirds shield themselves under a wing,
and nectar swaying heavy within the closed flower,
the hive humming its prayer under the rain's falling hush.