The sun returns, will linger
each day one minute longer,
will cast weird silhouettes
on the curtains: The pepper
tree branches dotted
with cold, slow-moving
bees, blurred wings on bodies
in all stages of bee flight
(on the curtains I will see wings—
trasnlucent shadows of bee wings).
But now, the rain. Then
all the stones will darken,
and all the many small things
washed clean will brighten.