This city will never miss me like the bees.
A livid whisper of honey wise and freedom
sounding too far out.
We are silver, a shiver for wing, each one,
born in want of colony, crystal, hive,
I’d give these gold tipped streets for one night flight.
To soar dawn red across a morning shepherd’s delight,
terrible comet and heart –
I’ve heard the swarm call.