Honey

It fills you with the soft
essence of vanished flowers, it becomes
a trickle sharp as a hair that you follow
from the honey pot over the table
and out the door and over the ground,
and all the while it thickens,
grows deeper and wilder, edged
with pine boughs and wet boulders,
pawprints of bobcat and bear, until
deep in the forest you
shuffle up some tree, you rip the bark,
you float into and swallow the dripping combs,
bits of the tree, crushed bees - - - a taste
composed of everything lost, in which everything lost is found.
​-Mary Oliver
Yes...
LLS
Richard Powell
Authentic-Abundance.weebly.com
June 15-17 Master's Path to Creation Workshop in the New Mexico Rockies.
Painting by Dale Terbush