Sweet week, oh! sweetest of weeks!
when I became a wild honeycomb;
week when I was a ruff of waxen lace,
a fine throat-ruffle of wax;
when I was a pleating of bee-perfumed honeybed
spilling over with a singing, eucalyptus sweetness...O! savage honey!
O! week when I was honey from the leatherwood tree...
when I was honey from the clover and the flax...
O! week when we both spilled over with a syrupy grace, you and me:
we spilled over from the comb- a sun-ravished and brazen jam...
O! week when life became a wedge of ripened bread,
wiped sticky and thickly from the capping knife.
O! dear, blunt knife, unsharpened tool,
tool that's more often kind than cruel,
releasing sweetness, a flood of entrappping sap.
O! tell the ants! O! tell the wasps!
O! come to the bee-engorged feast!
life is a crusty, glazen loaf
perfumed with a musky, ever-rising yeast!
O! come...