Poetry
HIVE
Joshua Auerbach
while I could have lit the fire
you stood motionless,
silent, syllables locked
a soft tongue pressing to a hard-stop
become this; transform into that
I take your hand, gather
red-veined seeds for planting
our arms lift out of clay
pails fill with pebbles & quartz
networks of bees seek nectar
hovering wings pull
petals into sky
in the center a bee’s sting
on the ground dead ants
where the fallout splinters
we turn to glass
crystal clink & chatter
of the cocktail hour
a code firmly in place, a silo
in the valley
drones pass the field
gather sap from black branches