on mornings where
a hungry sun dips light strings
into a pool of mist
wishing to fish out dewdrops
from mellow wilted leaves
and cheeks of apples in cold orchards
an imposter hangs from a beehive
glowing yellow from honey inside
on a branch abandoned by bees
fending from a net spun with light
this mutinous dewdrop
creates a whirlpool in it’s soul
trying to drown a whole star
into an ocean of delusion
chased by warm strokes of reality