Clyde Kessler

A BEE IN THE AMBER


Out-buzzed, I played a bee dawdling inside amber,
the resin of a jungle saddled my wings. Starlight
grinned through all my eyes, so there was this heaven
ready to be the stone that I lived inside, in-buzzed
where the breathing and the heart-beating made echoes
tangle my feet. I saw the small, red orchid and yellow leaf
fondling a hummingbird, helping the air it worshipped
taste like a trillion sugars pushing down its throat.

Buzzed away, I know what I feel. It is this gumtree fossil
and this slow paleontologist, that dark pair of eyes in a lens,
and the lens is planted deep into my name, and I’m nameless.
I feel the honeysuckle laughing. I feel the empty hives
framed like islands in a bear’s dreams. Oh, the sun is burnt
into palm trees. Clouds breathe across Haiti. Ghost crabs
slip from their holes in the sand. I feel their stalky eyes
preaching to the light of God. I know where my home is.

 

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