Túp lều ong The bee hut

The bee hut

for Robert Colvin

There is a dark place
on my friend Robert’s farm
that thrums
with the nectar smell
of danger.

A swarm of bees
has taken over
a dozing old shed
and no one
has the means
or guts
to move them.

I think of slaughtered
Mycenean kings
entombed in their brick
hive
glittering as they lie
golder than honey
in the old blood
dark.

Entranced
my bare hand
wants to plunge
through a hole —
now a buzzing lethal
highway —
in the shed wall.

I love the bee hut
on my friend Robert’s farm.

I love the invisible mystery
of its delicious industry.

But do I love the lesson
of my thralldom
to the sweet dark things
that can do me harm?