With bees
it's all about heat.
Hard to find ourselves
in a damp autumn dawn
now that the circus
has moved on
the worst- 
off cramponned 
to a vertiginous
leaf, wings 
squeezed to a silver panel 
to sop up what thin warmth
they can 
running
–
on empty.
We can barely buzz
but do
what we can –
without your teaspoon
of sugar-water –
slowly rocking
our grounded weight
(so mite-laden
we look like strawberries)
from limb to limb,
grieving, really, 
the slippage
of the sun. 
–
Which is in 
itself to recollect 
our business which is 
to be us to agitate 
each stiff joint, 
gather a quorum and 
shiver together hum 
fiercer and groom 
our leavening pelts
as the late rays stoke us, 
no surplus
perhaps but enough 
to get up and among 
the dog-roses

again