Summer Garden

It’s been so hot these past weeks — 

Too much sunlight and not enough water.

Everything in the garden is wilting. 

The roses have starved, 

the gardenias turning their deep,

fragrant yellow

that lends death a sweetness.

Bee carcasses litter the yard

Little striped bodies in the fetal position 

As if ducking for cover.  

I wonder what they feel before their wings fail

— do they know the end is coming? 

Do they elect one last blossom to visit? 

Or, like flowers,

does the world slowly strip the living away 

so that all is left are fallen petals 

Or, in this case, broken wings?