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More poems by Mary OliverMary Oliver | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Mary OliverBooks by Mary Oliver

Honey At The Table

Mary Oliver

   
It fills you with the soft
essence of vanished flowers, it becomes
a trickle sharp as a hair that you follow
from the honey pot over the table

and out the door and over the ground,
and all the while it thickens,

grows deeper and wilder, edged
with pine boughs and wet boulders,
pawprints of bobcat and bear, until

deep in the forest you
shuffle up some tree, you rip the bark,

you float into and swallow the dripping combs,
bits of the tree, crushed bees - - - a taste
composed of everything lost, in which everything lost is found.

Added: 2 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 20 Apr 2018 5:07 AM | Viewed: 15513 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/3162/ | Viewed on 20 April 2018.
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