To BEE

In the gently falling

snowflakes

of the gloaming 

morning light,

I feed the bees

of winter.

Listening,

ever listening 

for the hum 

that comes 

from their 

core of being -

community -

the hive.

For it is nothing 

if it is not a collection 

of all the cells of 

a large Bee SELF.

Each bee a 

molecule of BEE.

For, what is hive 

if not 

the gathered sense 

of an “I” among the many.

Bees expanding and 

contracting between the 

one BEE and the ALL.

The space between 

each bee

nothing more than a 

sign of the hive’s 

own breathing

BREATH.

The space between 

each bee 

the dark matter membrane 

of existence 

UNITY.

This, leads me to ask, “

did Buber 

raise bees?”

“Hummm.”