Her Reverence

It seems for her, reverence still came down
to little toads alongside little frog ponds
in gardens of toil and tuition.
She stops, screams, inhales.
It is as if a bee has landed on her lips.
A toad jumps, tries to escape, fails.
*
Likewise, it seems all ideas should be
a pasture of places, not plagued
by ugly wart-toads asking stupid questions.
The bees have trespassed on her world forever;
the frogs have always laid eggs in her mud.
Her reverence is like a snake uncurled.
*
She could taste the nape of his neck
as she began to pull his skin apart.
So calm, the life of a plant.
So many seeds to scatter.
Her body’s tears resembled a rainbow.
Her reverence was hot inside her, like a bee.