bee speaking / bee keeping

to hold the nest is to 
talk like the nest. we would play
whisper down the alley 
& i loved to be the one
to turn the word into a shrapnel.
there are all kinds of children.
i was one who gathered pollen
& fed it to the jaws of flowers.
language is always both creation 
& endings. sealing all the tangibles
into the glass display cases.
i want to be something unworded.
bees knit their catacombs
into the roof. my father wears
a parable to try to dislodge them
with his bare hands. i practice
saying "i love you" in swarm.
googling "why do people throw
their sneakers over the telephone wires?"
i am not the bee keeper or 
the bees but i am something in between.
this is how i teach my eyes to feast.
swallowing honey by the hexagon.
tethering my coffin to the arm
of an oak tree, i live like 
a whole colony. sending paper airplanes 
to deliver questions to god. 
why do i still wish i was
allowed to open my tongue like blossom?
i am an excavator of limits. i cannot
explain to the bees that they will
live very short lives. of course
they are aware of this but in 
a bodily way. i want them to understand
that they only have months
to learn about cartography &
musical instruments. a violin
small enough for a worker bee to play.
at the end of the day i can't save them
but i can burn myself trying.
i put the hive in a baby carridge
& walk down by the river.
a lullaby grows wings & leaves me.
the bees turn into finger bones
when this is all said & done.
i go back to trying to summon gold
with only my beard covered in pollen.