Water

Cold, ragged light shines
on cluster of purple bees.
Over the construction line,
bullet holes in the leaves.

Tide of vermillion leaves
stains with irreversible shine,
has no business with bees.
Makes apparent horizon line.

Enough imperial pipeline.
Tents collapse under leaves,
collecting pools of moon's shine,
sea of anesthesia for bees.

Partake of me, wild bees.
Deposit beneath the pipeline
fodder for sun-powdered leaves,
stick it where cameras don't shine.