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.
