Streams

They come and hold out their fingers
nearly begging for sting
they bathe and drink
feel fluttered and purified, chosen
Meanwhile there are no special acts
the bees simply wake with dew
with uncelebrated purpose
to collect and deposit,
to protect and churn
These transformations so inscrutable
while we develop theorems for resurrection
try to explain the thick golden initiations
inside our peculiar biochemistries,
and theirs

But yes
here are my fingers
Who does not want the pouring over?
the lively murmuring?
the puncture of possibility?
Who does not want streams meandering
heartside?

(5-17-08)