Some might not resist the urge to eat them, even after being warned against it . . . Lying in your twin bed, where cartoon figures stare out from the comforter with their medicated expressions, you realize that you're dying, death includes you. Distant relatives, rodents, and now, suddenly, you. This is the same day you're surprised by a nest of wasps hidden in the neighbors' swing-set, their jet bodies burrowing inside your clothes, stinging you between the shoulder blades, one welt bubbling inside your lower lip. When stands of honeysuckle fade, they reach for the ground, their nippled flowers pulling close to the center of each bush.
Birds abandon old nests laid open inside the dying grove.
Eventually the shrubs must be stumped, hacked off below the waist and extracted. Do not be shocked by their roots, how far the honeysuckles' reach is . . . Now you lie down queen-sized, new husband beside you, paying rent in his dreams. Who knows, the way you sleep, you might as well be drowning. The dragonfly stuck in a knickknack's liquid glass.