Ash Wednesday

Today I knelt to watch the genuflection of the honeybee.

Her little face was buried in the holy flurry of new spring,
legs coffers of gold, weighted with promise.

Perhaps a hundred times she dove into the crocus,
dove, rose,
dove, drank,
dove, nuzzled out the savors of glory,
dove, wings beating with relish,
dove, hovered, unable to resist such bounty
dove, enveloped among the indigos,
silk upon silk.

If her tiny chest beats not wild with praise at such a hymn,
mine will beat for us both,
for men throw branches upon dirty streets shouting, “Make way,”
when we have no such intentions at all.

Yet, the Messiah rides the earth on the back of a donkey,
and on the stripes of a honeymaker.

Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest!