'Gone With the Wind'

A bee kisses the shoulder
On days frigid, cold.
As if the world a constricting jar,
He bounds to and fro.

What he calls his own
Is imperceptible, one might say.
Silvery dreams upon the breadth of landing;
Only the narrow minded believe.

No, the sea and sky provoke
A spirit more sincere.
Vexing a stream to blustery torrent,
Or personifying the art of fear.

I examine this little bee
And how he pines for the golden sky;
A destiny fate will never bring,
Lest his deity succumb to science
Or an inferno; heaven shall glean.

Through the grimy panes,
Light pierces listlessly.
The bee, his crumpled wings,
Settles disconcertingly in a beam.

Where do wishes dissipate
And never discombobulate the mind?
Carrying his fragile burden
The bee stumbles solemnly by.