roofline choir hums the skyline sweet
beekeepers in denim coveralls
trade smoke for sage bundles
wave calm across the colony

we speak in hexagon cadences
language of drip and glimmer
ankle bells signaling shift change
from hustle to hush

my sister paints the night gold
dashiki sleeves smeared in pollen
she whispers, sip slow beloved
and the moon blushes bronze

below, the avenue glitter rains
matatu radios croon marabi
youth scribble manifestos on bus stops
inking sugar maps towards tomorrow

we ladle sweetness into metal tins
label them with future-tense verbs
send them down to cousins
who feed block parties with tenderness

come dawn, our jars line the sill
proof that joy ferments best
when the hive is held by every palm
and rest is the richest harvest.