The Humming Trees, a poem

 

 

On the retreat house grounds

in early March stand trees that

hum. Buds tight-fisted, but

burrowing bees

create an aura of sound.

 

Boring and drilling

to core sweetness,

intense attention to

inmost harvest,

electric buzz.

 

Like an orchestra tuned

to the same note,

efficient nectar factory

in accord, bee energy

set on the bud’s heart.

 

Ignatius got that right:

driven by desire

to the deep honey,

the concentrated press

becomes a singing.

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