By Anna Cates
we can’t blame it
on witchcraft . . .
in a single bubble
rainbow colors
bloat and belch
putrid portents
on a drying lake
where birds cease to venture
our error’s peak
how lonely
that dark mountain . . .
a threatened bee
seeking harbor
in cleansing nectar . . .
our rallying cry
let it be
in fragrant blooms
our altar of amens