Ode on Bees

The summer populations of flying insects

have fallen by more than 80 percent

in the past quarter century. This fact

is a fact I can’t think of very long.

Bees are good at holding themselves away

from my consciousness with their

furry selves. They contort and arch into

their blooms. When I do think of them,

it is a pure, balsamic sadness, dark

and rich, which unfortunately draws

them closer as if I were a bloom myself.

To become optimistic about bees,

I believe, requires math. You have to see

the math of their bodies as part of

the greater math, the order in which they

visit flowers demonstrative

of how the work of the universe can be

flawless. How theories of living are

nothing next to living. Once a bee

has identified the taste, the smell,

the touch, it flies a figure eight and waggles

at the crossing. The angle of waggle

points the direction. The speed tells how far

to go. And bees remember protein

content, level of toxins. And even if they

die, and the dragonflies die, and

the flies, zero is not nothing, after all:

it is holding open the door.