make them move. I say, plunge them into the hive,

& his hands go in. If I said,

put your head inside,

he would wear it. Think of my body, every day

the same chair, angled

thus, Burnens

every day, think of his body, think of

a hive, each bee, each thought, the hive

brims with thought. Move it into shade, I think,

& the body moves to shade. Whose

fingers, which word, each surges

from inside my head, but always returns

as Burnens.

Workers (attendants)

Nights we lie beside her, our mouths

at her belly, counting

her breaths, the buzz, the gathering, long

done. We all began

inside her, like those lined up

inside her now, mere

idea of ourselves

unborn. We wash her body

ceaselessly, move our tongues

until all her hairs loosen. She

roams the brood, finds

another empty cell

& fills it. Morning comes &

she calms us, keeps us inside

until the dew burns off. This sodden

world. All winter

we huddled around her, kept her

warm. Those on the outside, those

farthest from her, died

first, their legs

gripped the others like a shawl.

Hive

What would you do inside me?

You would be utterly

lost, labyrinthine

comb, each corridor identical, a

funhouse, there, a bridge, worker

knit to worker, a span

you can’t cross. On the other side

the queen, a fortune of honey.

Once we filled an entire house with it,

built the comb between floorboard

& joist, slowly at first, the constant

buzz kept the owners awake, then

louder, until honey began to seep

from the walls, swell

the doorframes. Our gift.

They had to burn the house down

to rid us.

Blind Huber (iii)

Sometimes bees, the glittering

curtain they form, cling to my face,

& the moment before knowing

I can imagine them a leaf, able to be

brushed away, but they

hold on, their tongues

seek each pore,

as if my cheek offered nectar, they move

delicately, caress &

shade, as if not threatening

to flood my eyes.

Queen

Net suit &

smoking cup, you reek fear.

If we fight back, or if there isn’t

enough, you seek me out with gloved fingers

to crush my head. When we sting

you scream. We know why

you carry our white boxes

to the edge of the alfalfa, to the figs

& raspberries. You take our honey

because we let you. We pollinate the fields

because we are the fields.

Workers (guards)

At night skunks come,

crack us in their teeth, oblivious

to the sting. We covered one

& its body jumped & we each died

pumping it with venom. The virgin

flew this morning

as we dragged the old queen

out. A drone

failed to follow, a young one,

gorging himself on honey,

& ten of us surrounded him,

held his mouth shut. We are

infinitely more abundant

& we are all the same.

Blind Huber (iv)

False kingdom, even as a child I knew—

no endpoint, no start—first

the hive creates a queen, so the queen