On an early morning walk
A shock of light, wings, quiet.
It happens this way, the shock and swoon.
The bees move like particles of light, the old tree offers an opening in her body.
A fine synarchy prevails. Luminous wings bear gifts from the flowers, building an ecstasy of sweetness; the mother lies hidden, deeply dreaming.
And my gaze forms part of the mysteries now, exploding quietly between the resurrection and the ascension.