Making Bee Hives

The air is sweet with sap and honey,
As the old man draws his plane along the wood.
A breeze moves creamy curls across the floor.
They lie tangled in every corner.
Sunlight filters through wood dust
And the dust of the bodies of the bees.
The world outside is alive,
Crossed by the flight paths of a million messengers.
I am long ago,
A child on a high stool in the corner
Overcome by the flower fragrance of pollen.

3/1/79

Eschaton

I saw the world end yesterday!
A flight of angels tore
Its cover off and Heaven lay
Where earth had been before.
I walked about the countryside
And saw a cricket pass.
Then, bending closer, I espied
An ecstasy of grass.

8/17/78

Oblation

I hope each day
To offer less to You,
Each day
By Your great love to be
Diminished
Until at last I am
So decreased by Your hand
And You, so grown in me,
That my whole offering
Is just an emptiness
For You to fill
Or not
According to Your will.

11/12/79