by Gloria Keeley
think beehive and
private tiny entrances
the Poseidon of the garden
through the maze
the span to the end
a trail of stings
four quiet wings
flap timpani
float nectar to nectar
returning to their hive
crab-cracking percussion
shakes down their dreamland
notes progress horizontal
soft now, like cotton
“Nature Boy” by Miles Davis
lulls baby bees to sleep