Because these will be gone soon, ruined
by the wet weather and because then their
smell will be gone and the honeysuckle
will soon follow, the days to grow shorter
and I can already sense the end of summer,
saying the word
August today was wrong.
Field of Vision
And if the bee, half-drunk
on the nectar of the columbine,
could think of the dying queen, the buzz
of chaos in the hive, the agitation
of the workers in their cells, the veiled
figure come again to rob the combs --
then would the summer fields
grow still, the hum of propagation
cease, the flowers spread
bright petals to no avail -- as if
a plug were drawn from a socket
in the sun, the light that flowed into
the growing field would fail;
for how should the bee make honey then,
afraid to look, afraid to look away?
By Eleanor Wilner
from her book The Girl with Bees in Her Hair
PS You should check out qarrtsiluni.
Some pretty good reading. Go there now.