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