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the way to describe something indescribable is to say it.
just like that, the work is done. something was there
but i didn’t see it. my sight shifted, and then i saw.

i moved into rain and back out of it without any effort
on my part. i watched the sun push through clouds
like cardboard cutouts. the world shapes itself around me.

i see things that aren’t there. hope, for one. and sorrow.
can you see these things too? can you describe them
any better than i can? there’s something hoo-ing outside

my window and i can never tell if it’s an owl or machine.
can you tell me? can you hear it too? it’s right there, just
past my grasp. hydroplaning sounds just like hopping

the curb. i never did check the passenger door. up until
the second i stopped looking, i thought i’d find the lost
blade. i missed you before you even left. this was never

meant to be about you, but it never is. i’m mixing you’s
here. i miss the rain. missed the rainbow. hid in the dark.
forgot to look up or out. something’s coming, it’s just

over the horizon. if i stretched, i’m certain i could see.

BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have been published in FOLIO, Figure 1, The Offing, and Harpur Palate, among others. they are a poetry reader for Capsule Stories. their portfolio can be found at

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