It’s not painful anymore to listen

to the radiator tell the truth, to the refrigerator

clear its throat and say two honest words, my ears

have been healed of all the maladies they’ve been

storing up like bad honey, and now my busy hive

is powered purely and shines with a clean blue light

that’s visible even from a distance when I lie

in the field at night counting the drops I’ve managed

to collect: that face, that sigh, that hand

clutching a bag filled with torn bread, it’s music

to me now, all the whining of tiny wings

and rubbing of prickly legs.