Nocturne for keeping//Christine Robbins

Wait.  When the bees return, their husk bodies

Will grieve the uncut grass, the boxes

Empty on the roof, the white paint chipped.

Like any dead, their eyes are unspecific –

A hexagonal glare, a prism for the light

That remains.  Old honey comb smells

Of an over-ripe sun.

Christine Robbins has an MFA from the Rainier Writing Workshop. Her work has recently appeared in Bellevue Literary Review, Barrow Street, The Georgia Review, Los Angeles Review, The Missouri Review Online, New England Review and TYPO. She lives and works in Olympia, Washington.