It's Never What You Think

How do you calibrate the degrees
of separation of a picture
window or what the wide-brimmed hat
accomplishes, a stippling of shadow
liquid in effect. The flowers behind
my aunt misbehave, sexually spent
after the bees visit. She sits, sips
unaware of mayhem. Breeze ruffles
red blooms, no less trickster
than a crow or the onyx necklace
at her wide throat, like a beetle crawling up
for a tete-a-tete. And if the grapes
were a bowl of apples, how would history
adjust.