There were times when I would disappear
to great angst and hullabaloo,
and when I made my miraculous return,
no one noticed.
There were times when I armed myself
to recoup every swat and welt and burn,
but it turned out
I could only sting once.
I have sympathy for the bees
because I have lived a similar life:
collecting sweet-smelling powders
and constructing my cage with geometrical precision,
only to find that my death was everything
and my revival was only as good as my production.