Honey At The Table

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.

by Mary Oliver

Comments (8)

Lovely sensual contrasts. I could paint from this poem I think. I wonder what conversation inspired it... I don't agree that it is purely abstract. There is a mystery in it, though.
Igwe, I agree with Melvina, this leans towards the abstract, but still it is beautifully written. Top Marks and thanks for sharing it my friend. David
This poem is rather unique in a sense that it leans a little toward the abstract. I like it very much.--Melvina--
cute and sort of sad poem i love this poem
I like this one, yes I do. The imagery is very compelling.
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