considering colony collapse

Sometimes,
I think I could become a home
for honeybees
let them pick the nectar
from my eyes, and drink the moisture

from my lips
until I become dry and cracked- hollow
and wooden like an old stump
an ancient king petrified amongst the oaks
sitting a gnarled throne, bees dancing
across my toes and fingers, shoulders mantled

with bee fur
and my heart the hive- dangling
among the branches of my ribs
laced with gold, always
humming, humming

# # #

Brian Randall is a poet and writer living in Santa Cruz, California. He writes to explore how the primal self survives in the technological age. His poetry is forthcoming in Jelly Bucket.

Photo: Simon Matzinger