HEART AS HONEYCOMB The Bridegroom says to the Bride, “your heart has become a honeycomb full of every kind of instruction.” —Gregory of Nyssa Australian stingless bees aim their egg nurseries upward in a spiral, the same configuration as crystals grow their glow and luminous mother of pearl multiplies in the mouth of mollusk. Sweet sugarbag bee helix of beeswax— trace of divine finger in the genes in the wax, refraction of gem glimmer of pearl pulsing architectural evidence of love of algorithm secreted in buzzing cells which build and bend twenty terraces high. You who number the stars, yellow the corners and planes, bundle the efficient hexagon—: you know the precise sum of tiny wings you’ve folded inside this humming honeycomb, reaching up to you.