for the pollinators

The Language of Bees

On the rooftop garden

over the gallfly’s home

the baldfaced hornet sips nectar.

The shag rug of florets covers her feet.

Mated already, surviving,

she’ll overwinter in litter

then pulp wood in her mouth

for a pendant gray paper nest.

The larvae will close their own cells.

The year carries its freight,

its September.  At the gambrel

of goldenrod plumes, she rocks

in the sun, pine fragrance stirring.

The slick yellow and black

stripes of her abdomen pulse,

bent to her mouth music.