in this thick fall wind 

that pushes on the highrise/building with big shoulders

— as a bison leaning 

to scratch an itch 

before the crisp of frost will clear

the air. make all blue bluer, and bodies quiet

there’s a bee

still on it’s wings. swimming upwards 

on currents. dancing drowsy between gusts 

            making it’s way home graceful

            as the daylight. turns to honey

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