Solitary Bees

by DON THOMPSON

Some bees must do endless paperwork,
assigned to cubicles.
You can hear the bitterness in their hum,
loathing for anything sweet.

But some pollinate for the love of it
rather than honey lust. Those bees
shun the hive for crevices or dark cracks,
hoping to be left alone.

Night Walk, December

by DON THOMPSON

Two frogs take their leap in the dark,
plunking into the fetid slough.
They ought to be holed up by now,
alive without a heartbeat.

A gibbous moon barely illuminates
the tule reeds—most wilted,
a few upright at the end of the year.
Diehards, but dead.

Somewhere nearby, an unfed coyote
down from the hills howls.
Because it needs to and knows how,
it sounds far, far away.