The other Life of Bees

If there is a road through all of these stars,
And what seems glow and beckon really is,
Then journeying there can only be a blink and blip on someone's radar screen,
When the little movement that is us displaces calm,
Deep within some Nebula,
Replacing void with ripple, and wrinkle in Time.

There will be this errant bee, carrying us, and we, the
Honey of Life, bringing sweetness
to some
Distant Flower, and the various
Lives,
Lit upon its Petals.

Tempered Nectar

I think of glen and dale, dark and
sweet as claret balm,
Swirled and stained from your lips, and spilled onto mine, like
dye.


I can taste the slow oak of
age, pungent as forest sweat,
in the din and mist of spring,
Its languid tongue, grape-touched and tingling,
Meeting mine, softly.

In the dark, the lips that part and join,
hide the quick soft sigh
of
New nectar.