Oh, how we have so many memories

The sound and color is beginning to wither away

Beneath the hive that's wound around my brain

But I can pick at the threads of the fossil and feel you

Oh, how I feel the swarm plucking at the loom

Queen Bee, I hope you see my love shine through

The woven threads that cloth my dying youth so

I can pick at those threads of the fossil and feel you

But I still feel like that child

With my teeth in nature

And an eagerness to nurture

But I’m still stung on the tongue

With your hive hung

On the same branch our messiah was

Mother, I’m still hiding under the kitchen table from the A-bomb

And I’m still that child

Barefooted, that you watched in the front lawn

When you find different uses for my childhood room

I will pick at the threads of the fossil and feel you