We tread lightly together we 

tread unspeaking, you and me, 

a hushed thread of genes 

spun through time sublimely

at ease— we

tread so lightly through this thicket of 

dried wild fennel, fragrant fig, sun-glowing 

Bermuda buttercups, that we hear them first a

communal hum auguring 

another— we

push into their world, a pool 

of solar gold and light, nothing

but brightness & intimate industry, we 

intrude bizarrely unknowing of their

ancient rules or runic lives, estranged we

admire but cannot seem to be— if

they craft combs of honey, then what is it 

we make? Perhaps prismatic hexagons of DNA 

brimming with mellifluously luscious love. Wait, you

say. I must adjust my hearing aid. One day

you’ll stop listening entirely— I’ll

be left bereft, still relishing their sugared song, 

a distant echo in your fine 

sweet ears.