The Bees of the Invisible
In memory of Dan Connor
A golden haze – departed souls-
hovers above the summer lawn,
performs its barely legible
dances inside a mote of sun.
Hovering above the summer lawn
wordless graffiti of unease
dance inside a mote of sun
and disappear into the trees
Wordless graffiti of unease
when people die where do they go?
disappear into the trees.
I’m not sure I remember you.
When people die where do they go?
Summer stormclouds drift away.
I’m not sure I remember you.
You’ve left, but here’s another day.
Summer stormclouds drift away.
The sky is blank but beautiful.
You’ve left, yet here’s another day,
a cup of emptiness to fill.
The sky is blank but beautiful
nothing will ever be the same-
a cup of emptiness to fill
symbols shaped into a name.
Nothing will ever be the same.
I cannot mourn without a sense
of symbols shaped into a name,
alphabet of intelligence.
I cannot mourn without a sense
of something that transcends the whole
alphabet of intelligence,
the bees of the invisible.