Museless

Please sing, I ask my lips.

Dry. Nothing.

No water nor wine

rouses them. No hum.

They are honeybees in winter,

hibernating in their frozen hive.

I walk to the river.

Sing, I beg it.

Silence in its chillfull mouth.

Silence in my lungs.

I’d do anything

to hear the voice

beneath the waves today—

I wade in naked. Linger.

No boat. No birds. No song.

In the hive,

the workers wait

around the drowsy queen.

Weary of laying,

she snuggles deeper

in the frigid comb.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s