On Surviving Together

          Golden shovel after José Olivarez
 
The hive is humming in the dark. I 
know because I’ve been inside. I know 
their voices, their paper-wings, we 
can imagine them huddling close, to exist 
in the darkening winter, because 
         I know it’s cold inside. The queen of
the brood dwells at the heart of what
          her maiden’s wings provide. We 
know they are alive by the riches they make.

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