not the plunder of the bee

from meadow or sand-flower

or mountain bush;

from winter-flower or shoot

born of the later heat:

not honey, not the sweet

stain on the lips and teeth:

not honey, not the deep

plunge of soft belly

and the clinging of the gold-edged

pollen-dusted feet.

Not so—

though rapture blind my eyes,

and hunger crisp

dark and inert my mouth,

not honey, not the south,

not the tall stalk

of red twin-lilies,

nor light branch of fruit tree

caught in flexible light branch.

 Prev. P 49/71 next