Daily Calamity

Would you like some sugar in your tea?
Can I lift this tea bag out for you, lay it
in the sink, little satchel of my heart,
sopped? Your hands, can I wash them?
Stir the soup along your knuckles
like clean, white clouds? Outside,
can you see the sediment seesawing?
True or true: all the bees are leaving,
wings loosening a lullaby? Will there be
honey enough to laugh in? Our fault
lines, wrinkled in what wonder?
The muscles of flowers, missing what
petaled tendon? How can we carry each
other in the sweet yearsafter? In a sky
cradled in sour sun, in smoke sludge?
How to carry, how to uncovet this
calamity in our blood?