More About Bees

A Sonnet from Late Spring, and Other Poems

The last two weeks have been a bit muddled, but through them the blooming and buzzing have continued in the trees and shrubs.

This sonnet takes up the tale from the last one.

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Late Spring

The musk of pollen’s heavy in the air
tonight; the catkins have grown old and limp
and furred with fringe a cautious bee won’t wear
for fear of looking like a careless imp.
The bright acacia blooms that were a-buzz
with bees a week ago—the muted gold
mesquite blooms too—their stamens’ fuzz
is crumpled, faded, and grown swiftly old.
The harvest is half-done; the bees are gone
to other blooms more fresh, and yet the musk
hangs heavily where they have worked; the wan
and fragile stamens whisper to the dusk
a scent that speaks of honey and the bruit
of pods that feed small creatures: summer’s fruit.

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My bedroom window is hung with curtains which I hand-knit some years ago in a heavy lace pattern. Hence this haiku.

Sunlight slipped in
through my curtains’ shadow
and made more lace.

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The saguaro cactus is setting buds!

Atop the cactus
two buds sing out to the sky,
’Remember the rain!’

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Beside the full moon
the heart of Scorpio shines.
It is pale and faint,
lonely as is tomorrow,
and the midnight wind is chill.

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The desert is a wonderful place to watch for shooting stars.

From the Milky Way
I see the stars are dripping
one by one by one

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Pleasures of summer:
sunlight through rose-petal ears
of quiet rabbits

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