The spring evening
     bursts so early I’m sure
                   some T’ang poet 

described it perfectly: 
      cool breeze, bird song,
                    no motorcycles. Yet. 

My high window looks
       on a cut lawn and I can’t
                     focus on reading Pound, 

because this bee’s
        in between the glass
                      and screen, and cannot 

find its way. I’d like
        to tell you I opened
                       the sash, I braved 

what little sting I might
         have endured to save
                        this desperate wing, 

or to tell myself
         that even if I had
                        the dumb bug would 

be like us: bang
          itself to death against
                         the sky and miss the

narrowly offered grace. 
          But I am like you:
                         I look at words 

and sadly think about
           the things dying
                         right within my reach.

ANDREW SZILVASY teaches British Literature outside of Boston, and has poems appearing or forthcoming in THINK Journal, Dunes ReviewModern Poetry Quarterly ReviewShot Glass Journal, and Boston Accent Lit, among others. He lives in Boston with his wife and cat. Aside from writing, reading and teaching, Andrew spends his time hiking, running, and brewing beer.