Installing the Bees

First this: a thousand bees

balled up in one black heart,

a loud wind, a fist of heat,

locked in their thin cage,

edgy with energy.

You carry them out to the hive,

gently, their delicate balance

locked in your dangerous hands,

gorged with your sweet words,

the sky buzzing with dusk.

Then this: the hive like a white thumb

stump on the frozen land.

You open it slowly

and pour the bees out,

as ifan escarpment, a sluice.

Now the bees seethe and roil.

You slap down the cover, suddenly

frightened at the weight

that falls from your arms,

the splash of dark waters.

You lift your white hands

to your eyes, waxen, honeyed,

pale lilies, mums, the dead man's

flowers, a thousand bees buzzing

in your wrists.