a veiled figure stands very still beside a low golden hive. between them
a haze of small warm stars climbs into the upper sky — the workers,
recorded by name in old keepers' books that no longer survive.
when the bee-keeper rises, the garden below
smells faintly of warmed wax even in winter. the constellation insists
on patience. anyone who tries to count the swarm will lose count and
be forced to begin again. begin again is part of the
ritual.