Laura Hogan

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.