Bee

Christian Century, Oct 4, 2003 by Luci Shaw

Bee

   An image hurtles against the glass,
   frantic to get out into a world of three
   or more dimensions. Like being suddenly
   transfigured, a collision with sunlight.
   The surprise, the shock of heat, the colors,
   bright as silk. The rush of nectar.

   Anguish or bliss? Or both at once?
   Intensity doubles the shift,
   translates it brilliant enough
   to expose its allegory on the brain's film,
   the shoe-box memory
   where prints are stored, secured even after
   cataracts and a smashed camera.

   Fall, and raining, but summer
   glows from the garden still,
   the shriveled lilies like grave-clothes.
   The bee, distilling honey from the hearts
   of old flowers, its body a coal
   burning with pollen.