The Bee's Hymn- by John AshberyWe were warned about spiders, and the occasional famine.We drove downtown to see our neighbors. None of them were home.We nestled in yards the municipality had created,reminisced about other, different places—but were they? Hadn't we known it all before?In vineyards where the bee's hymn drowns the monotony,we slept for peace, joining in the great run.He came up to me.It was all as it had been,except for the weight of the present,that scuttled the pact we had made with heaven.In truth there was no cause for rejoicing,nor need to turn around, either.We were lost just by standing,listening to the hum of wires overhead.We mourned that meritocracy which, wildly vibrant,had kept food on the table and milk in the glass.In skid-row, slapdash stylewe walked back to the original rock crystal he had become,all concern, all fears for us.We went down gentlyto the bottom-most step. There you can grieve and breathe,rinse your possessions in the chilly spring.Only beware the bears and wolves that frequent itand the shadow that comes when you expect dawn.
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