The Hive’s Heart
At the heart of the hive
is a kitchen warmly lit in midwinter.
There’s a voice describing gold and yellow,
their small but many differences.
At the heart of the hive
is a vase containing buttercups.
There’s an altar and a candle,
offerings to the god of suns.
Unearthly music can be heard,
an allurement sending bees into madness,
those clever carpenters and wheelwrights,
those busy emissaries with love on their lips.
How brief are their lives, how sweet their desperation.