Henri Cole – Bees


Poured through the bees, the sunlight, like flesh

and spirit, emits a brightness pushing everything

else away except the bees’ vibrating bronze bodies

riding the air as if on strings that flex

and kick back as they circle the hive outside

my window, where they are cheerful and careful

in their work, their audible bee-voices

in solidarity with summer, as it is getting on,

and all the leaves of the forest quiver toward

nothingness on Earth, where we are all fallen

and where we sin and betray in order

to love and where the germinating seeds

of the soul are watered by tears of loneliness,

fear, and emotional revenge.

Henri Cole – Ambulance


Gentleness had come a great distance to be there,

I thought, as paramedics stanched the warm blood,

signaling one another with their eyes.

I was not as I was, and I didn’t know why,

so I was aware of a shattering, of an unbidden,

moving under the influence of a restoring force.

Like a Japanese fan folding, my spirit seem possessed

of such a simple existence, the sexual principle

no longer at its center, nor memory.

I felt like the personification of an abstraction,

like mercy. My hands were red and swollen.

A great chain, the twitch of my life, dragged against decay.

Then I heard shouts. Far off, a horse whinnied.

I blinked back tears as I was lifted forth.