There is a man swaying outside her window covered in bees. His whole
head is alive with them. He shivers with wings. He moves and some of them, fat,
sated, fall off him and land with a soft wet sound like spilled honey on the
floor. When she opens her eyes there is just the sound of the ocean and the
sway of shadow as a tree is taken by a stray breeze. When she closes them the
man is back. Even wakeful, closed eyed, he is there and so she must not close
her eyes or he will climb through the half closed window and the bees will drip
onto the floor inside. She lies as still as she can and listens to a thousand
wings beat, light and fast as her heart.
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