I think I worked it out –
why I admire
and fear bees so much.
It’s not that
they make the world grow,
dancing on daisy tops,
pollinating, creating, circulating
honey.
(Though that in itself,
reminds me of little golden lights
turning on in a row around a garden.)

It’s the power they have
one sting, and they’re gone.
They live so close to suicide,
but keep on keeping busy,
busting and blazing,
flying through fields.
We’re both so close to death
that we can hardly stop,
until we’ve tried to paint each rose,
and spread nectar
(the sweeter things in life)
everywhere, until we finally just
drop.