No, I haven't

No, I have not written for some days, with the overcast up ahead,
chilly wind and snowy weather.
It is difficult and words come slow.

The brain has an uncanny way
of being able to hold itself
gray mass pressing outward,

so outer pressure pressing fissures open
encounter innards pushing back
making wet
thwacksmack, whackatasmack
sounds.

I have not written for some days, but that does not mean my eyes
examine wet mulch any less
than they did last week,

that the green buds are not doing their best
to shed dead skin cells and rejoice
like they did last year

and the year before.
That year was the year bees were going extinct,
at least, the year the press cared.
If I tried to help all the bees
trapped in all my jars,
that love would be volatile.
Now I don't own a single jar with a lid.