The underworld has pipped up
evil. I smell it in the flowers.
Some nights,
the scent fills the bedroom.
Filing down the edges of
gentle dreams where honey bees
miss their next turn, where their paths
flood with unknown signals.

How can evil
take over gardens filled with
rhododendrons and the sweet tops of peas before they become food?
How can the ivy and the roses
crowd me until I can’t move?

I see you down by the tracks
but metal grinds over calls for you. We want free of the wet springs
that swell with bamboo.
Sustainable, invasive and segmented
like love.

Evil finds its way into my head
through the smell of flowers
and I roll into the soft sheets
unable to understand the source.
The bees and I rely on each other
to make new maps.
It hurts when they sting
but it’s worse when they lose their wings.