In my summer breath
I hear the tick-tack
of train tracks and become
acutely aware of
my soft pink lungs
and the thrumming
of hungry young bees
living in my chest.
I feel the orange origami
folds of my paper-thin
eyelids as the nectar sun
holds them softly closed.
But when my skin and bones
turn to stones and soil,
I will feel the small gold bodies
flying from my lips.
They will lust over orchids
and pinks and peonies
that open like fists
releasing birds.
I will be a feast
for the forest bursting
in my limbs and hips
and skull. And the bees
will remain as plants go to seed
and the mountains to trees.
Bugonia (βουγονία): the generating of bees from the putrid carcasses of cattle