The Rite of Spring

The bees have now returned to visit blooms
Teased open by the spring sun's warm caress.
Alighting, they imbibe the sweet perfumes
And tickle petals while they--slaked--egress.
They hum between the apple tree's pink flowers
And sow the seeds of summer's gravid crop
Then they, in afternoon's long-shadowed hours,
Fly back to hive's embrace, and labors stop.
She sleeps and sips from Lethe while I lie
Awake beside her. Through the window screen,
A midnight flock of geese call out and fly
To nesting grounds in wastelands kissed with green.
Her thigh is smooth and warm and fair and bare
And draped with quilts against the vernal air.