by Seth Jani
In the deserts of mid-July
I occasionally found a light,
cold and crystalized,
hidden away from the world
in the summer caves.
I would collect it on my fingers,
letting the sweetness flow
like warm blood
or patient nectar
down the landscape of my chin.
I didn’t know what gold sentinels
had brought it into the darkness,
what secret patterns nature had built
to arrange such abundance.
I simply shared in the benediction
of those blessed laborers,
never for an instant imagining
that one day those combs would be empty,
and the Northeast forest
quiet as a boat of arriving refugees.