This Life with Bees

Bees see your face as a strange flower:

each eye a bloom. The darkness

pooling between parted lips,

holds something they would gather.

They measure the length of your collar bone,

the curve between each finger,

keep careful notes on your habits,

your growing. Outside of the apiary

nothing is ordinary. It’s more

than queen and colony.

It’s the investigation,

the taking.