more

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.