The Honey Cave
On a racing abseil down a scarred, breathless face,
I surprise stalled, smelling the waxy comb
before hearing the anthem-buzz of stinging sirens.
To a zipping stop, there deep,
back in the dark out-of-sight
lay flashlight hidden, shadowed away,
a secluded cave of stone sweetness.
From out the needle-sharp, eye-biting karoo light,
the bees rocket dive like shining embers bright,
fire-honed, humming into their honey cave home,
swallowed into the dense sweetness.
As Life extrudes with centrifugal spin,
each to fingernail climb her
chosen rockface of cold hardness,
or
to flurry, fret and fly a million flights
from high forest or low scrubland,
all seeking the warm softness
of our own honey cave,
safe on an untroubled cliff.
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