Kinds of Honey

Clatter of keys.

Chatter of teeth, tongues.

.

On and on and on and on

we pour our this-or-that

listen-to-me out there.

.

A pile of messages

gathers on the desk.

.

She clunks down the phone

pulls the twisted cord,

takes the stack of

post-it notes and looks

them through.

.

Then rips

once, twice,

peacock-blue and

duck-yellow into confetti

.

to flutter down the cardboard

box full of your many, many words.

Please, world.

.

The jam of letters becomes nothing

when everything contradicts

or repeats. And repeats.

.

Close down the webpage.

All four, actually,

and their long streams.

.

Stretch on your back and watch

the way the wind moves the

curtain against the sill, the

way the cat steps across

the wood floor to find

the spot of sun on the rug.

.

Listen to how the sound

of the mockingbird reaches

through the torn screen.

.

Let the aspen tree, twirling

outside within the day’s light

tell you about all you need to know.