Sweet Vermouth

there is little planning 
                             in shaved ice
        the muddling of a sugar cube 
                             splashed with bitters

whiskey roads
                 leading to Manhattans on a Friday night.

                 
                 Alone doesn't mean lonely

         sometimes. 
                   
                  most times.

Bee Dream

I tried to find joy
in the lavender honey
spread across the expanse of my toast.
Yet, I couldn't shake the dream.

My father was certain there was
a hive of bees in the wall.
Pounding with a two by four
he tried to smoke them out.

The bees swarmed
a mighty rush of longing to see him.
I awoke to Mother's Day remembrance
of father more mother than mother
both honeycombed in the earth.