A hummy buzz draws me from my book

to watch a bee among the flowering grass.

Rolling from lounge chair to the ground

I find myself looking through a forest

of blossoms, trying a bee's-eye view.

The bee roams and I follow, taking in whole flowers

at a glance. His eyes are focused to find

each tiny sun-warmed source

his sense of smell detects. We are different

parts of the same world and, as we wander

in our different ways, I wonder

if he is as conscious of my presence as I am of his.

Until, in patches of crushed clover, I realize

I have rolled over

and destroyed a morning's supply of food.