9_trance

MAN IN A TRANCE

This is the man who holds the queen bee in the palm
of his hand. He has not lured her out with the engines

of war: billowing gusts, the black pandemic of flame
and smoke. He has gone simply to the humming hole

and offered his hand. And now she sits there
large with her crystal wings, uncannily still.

See how the man moves through the shadows,
hawthorn wood, white blossom clover;

he walks with the grace of one who knows
how it is: exact ritual of life, clairvoyant,

every sensation and thought a tuned instrument
augmenting the flow. Alarmed voices from the farm

do not distract; the rip and tear of tireless traffic
centuries away. Crazed cities vaporize.

The lulled bees fall through his tousled hair,
hypnotized. Or drone a thunderous low cloud

above his back. They neither sting nor vex
his equipoise, a man holding the queen bee.

On the eight day of Creation – Adagio.