Saturday, August 8, 2009

The Drone of a Single Bee

A single bee collects all morning,
a sense for the endless storing of honey.
She knows the way in, the way out.
Her drone busier, softer
than the swarm of home.
Her legs brush against stamens,
forsythia crammed with sweetness.
Her saddle-bags are strapped
and yellow against the light.
She knows she cannot stay, already there
too long; the hive a world humming away.
She knows this winter there's an
absence of rain, fewer blossoms.
The honeycomb full of consequence & distance,
a queen's desire, eggs ready to hatch.
The cold wind might come
whisk her away, white clover
and pollen drying her tired, aching legs
curled against their hunger.



Published by Australian Poetry Centre, Melbourne

of Arc & Shadow

of Arc & Shadow
Published by Sunline Press, WA

The Joyous Lake

Par écrit

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