Garden

Sticky clumps, dead insects, in my hair…
A spider has stencilled its kingdom
across the path to the water tank.
Next day my nose stops, inches from a bee
grappling its chains with strong black legs,
swaddled in musty filaments. I fail
to free it but damage the web again —
a message to build elsewhere.
Mid-afternoon, bees harvest blue
of the rosemary, the mint I tread gives up
its scent to me, to these warm shadows.