BLESSING OF BEES

The linden tree ablaze—
bees sip on yellow blossoms,
move raggedly in drifts across the tree’s wide canopy.
Underneath the tree, sitting on a bench, I hear a rustling in the sky—
a goddess shaking ribbons from her golden hair.
So many silk tassels teased by the wind, I cannot begin to count.
Each spring the ritual is renewed: a few honeybees
in April crocus—a faint whir in creeping thyme—
and soon the whole garden will be buzzing.

On the porch at dusk, our voices low,
we speak about the day—
soft murmur not unlike the bees.
We live in similar quiet fashion:
I care for our old collie’s teeth,
watch as you and I move in and out of occasional sadness.
When limbs of older trees crack, break off in heavy winds, we sigh;
marvel at our new birch, ‘Trost’s Dwarf,’
just a foot tall.
Hum of buzzing illuminates who we are—
how we will pass the day.

If we are appendages of this earthly body,
and our one great body wakes from a dream,
what are we to make of it—ourselves being a part of it?
For just as easily as we are born into beauty—
a bee finding nectar in abundance,
the ecstasy of buzzing,
so may we quietly slip into dark—a misguided step here,
a turn there, and we will lie in some dark wash—
the night heavy with pronouncement.

A summer night—2:00 a.m.
I sit under the linden in total darkness.
With the bees I have made a pact: what you give, I accept.
I hold you close—my life resplendent as your thousand wings.


Published in: Lalitamba, 2011. No 4.