Know the voice of sheer wings, sheerest
hum that drums the pace of keenest hunger
in calm sky, or as torrents fall from thunderheads.
Breathe that air carrying us to the dust of pollen,
those sumptuous grains, heart of honeycomb,
bliss of generations before and all to come.
How we tend the hive, grow it, find a path
from afar to this locus of miracle — a doorway
to the most intense meeting — forms our love.
Sweet, sweetest pear blossom, or alfalfa clover
fallow over wheatlands — where flowers dwell
wild out on country lanes — nearby our nests are full.
Flora abounding on all the earth shall nourish
creatures of sunlight, these lives of season;
every being and the known world must perish
in swarming designs beyond mere reason.
Douglas Goldman
Eastern Point Road, Gloucester
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