Peaches-n-Poofs

If under mulch she sang a rotten    wood-like note with quiver Nostalgic for her days alive    Surely they could forgive her Most days it's quiet (these days it's cold)  Her bones observe the soil But Spring is pulsing warm and gold  Teasing memories to boil Like heated milk the liquid smell    of evening drips in branches A honeybee who suffocates    falls near her musing ashes "Is it wine or light strawberry?"  She asks him of the sky Though his dead ears don't hear her query  The answer is "Like dye" Just under mulch I hear a rotten    wood-like note with quiver Flushing young in days alive    Of course I can f