Bloom

The bees are dying toward Beverly Hills

The bees are dying into the sun

At midnight it is day the bees

In Santa Monica our oranges

Fall sideways toward no beginning the

Bees are dying America in the teeth

By waxlight our bees brim up

From no well they have

Left their reflections on the ice

Of eternity the bees are dying in our

Talk of beginning this young country

Their hives follow the names down

On Alvarado by the light of swans

We go crossing our sunglasses into oblivion

The hands of the Indians are buried

Everywhere nothing grows the feet of the Tongva

Are gathering in white shadows we

Forget them the shadows convulse

We announce ourselves upward into teeth

A cowboy hat without its body the bees

On Sepulveda a wheelchair and silence

In our mouths the sea forgets

We wake our way down the processes

Blooming everywhere the actions of our hands