Bumblebee

Unscathed, she now rests in

the palm of my hand - a fragile

emblem of spring, woken by

a lucid shine that fell short;

it didn’t warm the grass or

stones to offer refuge after her

venturing out optimistically

into a promising afternoon.

At sunset, she touched down on

an off-cold slate window sill,

which had granted some delay

before ice saints claimed her.