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For joy’s sake, from my hands

For joy’s sake, from my hands,
take some honey and some sun,
as Persephone’s bees told us.

Not to be freed, the unmoored boat.
Not to be heard, fur-booted shadows.
Not to be silenced, life’s dark terrors.

Now we only have kisses,
dry and bristling like bees,
that die when they leave the hive.

Rustling in clear glades of night,
in the dense forests of Taygetos,
time feeds them; honeysuckle; mint.

For joy’s sake take my strange gift,
this simple thread of dead, dried bees,
turned honey in the sun.

Translated by A. S. Kline

image courtesy zaksbeeyards.com