“honeycomb //” by Anne Strand


if we move rapidly
inside this honeycomb

and still find ourselves

maybe we’re somehow balancing
on solid ground

while earthquake tremors
sound off beneath our feet

art recovered from tasks:
            eat, commute, laugh
we wander toward home

faces buried in cell phones
lightning bugs
comet dust

this city:
something like
            the pulse in our fingertips 

something like
the heartache poem
we can’t seem to perfect

so we write, rewrite, 
we wander toward home 

ANNE STRAND is a writer from coastal Maine, USA. Her poems and short stories have been featured in journals including Sonora Review, Angel City Review, and The Metaworker. Connect with her on twitter @anniestrannie

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