In Tall Grass

Bees and a honeycornb in the dried head

of a horse in a pasture corner -- a skull

in the tall grass and a buzz and a buzz

of the yellow honey-hunters.

And I ask no better a winding sheet

(over the earth and under the sun).

Let the bees go honey-hunting with yellow

blur of wings in the dome of my head,

in the rumbling, singing arch of my skull.

Let there be wings and yellow dust and the

drone of dreams of honey -- who loses

and remembers? -- who keeps and

forgets?

In a blue sheen of moon over the bones

and under the hanging honey comb

the bees come home and the bees sleep.