Beehive Lane

And when the blue sky finally rises
putting out the artifice of
amber lights,
illuminations
once powerful against
the black of night,
there will be a burst,
a furious hive
of life,
spurred on
by little more than instinct
and robotic necessity.

And when the white and blue,
appears at last,
there will be quiet,
stillness in the gardens
of worker bees,
flowers dancing
in a morning breeze,
to a music unheard,
played
with notes of love,
with the people gone
and the houses vacant,

And when the amber returns,
the sky blackens,
these glowing windows,
bear witness,
to flickering shadows,
honey light
behind thin cloth,
moving bodies
and casual gestures
of life,
tawdry curtains drawn
on the amateur theatre.


Maria Taylor, UK