heart murmur’s crescendo and decrescendo,
cognitive deficits, butterfly rash
What if I remember my wife’s benevolent
face and where I place my hat?
Bees have memories
and age like me.
What if it’s a bee
with cognitive decline?
What will a rose look like
when the bee leafs a garden album?
Will the bee visit me and my wife,
our Wednesday’s picnic at the park?
Will it brush her face,
mistake her ear fo a hive?
Will the bee ride the opposite
flow of scented breeze?
How will the bee feel when dawn
lights each row of rhododendrons?
I wonder how the bees stream
sequencing of flowers, gathering of nectar.
I was taught once the path of enigma:
“It is when I am weak that I am strong.”
With each deficit, renewal
each bewilderment, revelation.
Will the bee find
the hidden holiness?
Is there a perfect equivalent in the bee world?
“My goodness, I’m glad you are here.”
When sunset comes will the bee ponder
the existential home: was, is, will be?
Note: Mrs. Abstract and I will miss the live demonstration next Saturday by the ladies of Tea Passage at the Grand Hand gallery in Napa on the fine craft of furoshiki, Japanese cloth wrapping.We are up in the mountain for Thanksgiving and huddle like the bees.
photo: of teabags is from a page of Napa Register news