Well the standoff and the drama Are finally over. The poetics, previously written, Of a fraught truce between me and a bee... An enormous, hovering, cast-a-shadow presence, Has reached its predictable, Act 5 denouement... The bee is dead. She didn't show up yesterday For our usual breakfast stare down... Nor today. I scanned the near horizon for anything untoward, My eyes revealing the former vibrance, Wings now akimbo on the deck's railing. The bee was no longer sleek and ominous, But frayed as a tuft of an old rug, Awaiting a breeze to carry her to oblivion. And breakfast, unhindered, by fear I now enjoy on the morning deck. *For those intrepid enough, the original poem about the Me-Bee confrontation is forty poems back, "An Understanding Between Species".