Here's a jar of honey for you;
we stand the beehives in the fields of borage,
the pollen's rich, the yields are high
from the bright blue flowers you knew.

Morning light spreads across the floor
despite liars in public places,
lapis miners get to work in Badaskhan
and wind lifts the ivy on the wall.

I walked out into the street,
we all moved together in a film;
faces lit from below, easily engaged,
and the blue Autumn sky falling away.

As if we said forever, buildings rise in air,
lives going in and out of them
and that would be above ground,
my girls growing up for instance.

The valley of the assassins has been extended
and escaped our rhetoric;
I'll pour the honey in the ground,
you rise up and spit the pearls in their faces.

The pollen's rich, the yields are high
from the bright blue flowers you knew.

Copyright © Kelvin Corcoran, 2003