Bee, you buzz in my soul, drunk with honey,
and your flight winds in a slow spiral of mist.
Last hawser, in you creaks my last longing.
In my barren land, you are the final flower.
You have deep eyes in which the night falls.
Cool arms of soft moss and a lap of rose.
Here in the solitude from which you are absent.
It is raining. The sea wind is hunting gulls.
The water walks barefoot in the wet streets.
From the tree, the leaves complain.
Bee, even when you are gone
You buzz in my soul.
You live again in time, slender and silent.
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