People who don’t understand each other
can only say enough to make things worse.
Or, I might say,
the woman whose hair was made from fallen leaves
could not love the man
with bees for fingertips.
A barn door closes.
Some leaves jump out. Some bees fly in.
“Don’t all men have bees for fingertips?” she would ask.
“Shouldn’t you be more like a flower?” He would respond.