The Beekeeper (Eliot Cardinaux)

  The Beekeeper


For an accepted (norm),
  I might add color
 to the color that already was

  facing south, and wind-west,
   where summer is,
 all the year, ’round and ’round.

Sound about the body-curve,
  Sound about the olive,
 in so wrecking

what fort I have made,

  or may, or may have, counting stars,
   all this year, ’round and ’round
 who are, yet near.

                        And counted, all the stones
          I have,
   come in droves
             
      the bees that have gone,
      the bees that have, as they must,
      a feeling of home, or home lost,

   and beating out their wings,
  furiously, at whose command?


2/11  ’11