Poem Twenty: The Coming of the Bees

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From eternity, to eternity.

Age, to age.

Iron boats take their places 

next to flutes.

Scribe of the underworld.

Roots of the cedar tree.

Stone women get up 

to dance.

This is my body.

This is my blood.

Genuflection. Song of songs. 

The blood becomes body.

Kneel on both knees.

If you are religious or not,

this is the coming

of the bees.

Who unleashes the dead

to walk upon the living?

God of the subterranean,

god of the yellow bloom.

The day after catastrophe

the bees return.

Their feet pollinators 

wet with marigolds.

Dust,  

to dust.

Their bodies make

flowers sing.

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