Summer Solstice Eve Poem

A Sacrament

Become the high priest,
the bee. Drone your way
from one fragrant
temple to another, nosing
into each alter. Drink
what's divine --
and while you're there,
let some of the sacred
cling to your limbs.
Where you go
leave a small trail
of its golden crumbs.
In your wake
the world unfolds
its rapture, the fruit
of its looming.
Rooms in your house
fill with that sweetness
your body both
makes and eats.

-Paulann Peterson

Spreading the Divine nectar of beauty on this eve of Summer Solstice. Gratitude to my friend, Eleanore, for sending this poem to me. Image from the Endangered Bee website.