The bees who come from the sun
flow down into the desert spring
and occupy a dark space hollowed in
the bank of an arroyo
where they gather at the end
of their journey from fire to the blooms
on saguaro, that open
to drink moonlight. When the stings
are sheathed and the bees
cluster between their honeycombs
with a sweet buzz ringing
a fragrance floats across the blue lit
landscape rescued in millennia
long past from the ocean, which left
nothing when it went away
but its bed of stone and mystery.
David Chorlton
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