Dear Beekeeper,

you have a way of listening
to rain that deadens questions completely.

I want to witness all the red
economies of venom in the first bee

whose memory survies inside
you as you arrive at the ornate

only to find it impoverished,
utterly bloodless bees mating linear

perspective with dead flies &
a vague yellow stain of summer,

solitary bees staring blandly into
all sorts of nothingness wherefore

other bees entirely mute are
a mathematical success

as evening spills over with honeybees,
an exquisite brownish gloom.

Copyright © 2006 Julianne Buchsbaum All rights reserved
from A Little Night Comes
Del Sol Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission