The Hornets Poem by Michele Vassal

The European hornets vampirised our grapes,
leaving the deflated grains, to hang on the vine
shrivelled black corpses, where there had been
fat promises, purple and taught like bishops' bellies.

The Asiatic ones, beheaded the black bees
that spin figures of eight in the waxy shade
of the ivy where they have nested since escaping
the hive. I remember, the dissenting hum of a schism

becoming a small pointillist swarm floating
hesitantly until it found, a recess of shadows
below the stone stairs. We left it to dream a
dream of fractal wax, of soft yellow buttresses

for a propolis scented cathedral. And we saw
the symmetry in our lives but that was before
the shrivelling draught and before the hornets