Hiving the Bees

To the bee yard I go, garbed in white for the sacred ritual;
Like a priest I bear the box of humming bees before me.
I don my vestments: the helmet, veil, and gloves.
From their casket the bees drone their ancient chant.
Incense from the smoker drifts in lazy curls.

The box is struck upon the ground;
The voice of the choir swells.
Now the syrup can is withdrawn,
Now the queen and blessed attendants,
Couched in royal palanquin.
Now the hive is opened wide to receive them;
Ancient odors of beeswax and resin rise.

The queen is ensconced in the Holy of Holies;
Her buzzing minions are released to follow.
The devoted rise to swarm in dervish dances;
The pious crawl on the landing board,
Entering the temple in patient procession.

The lid is replaced, the hive is sealed.
For seven days and seven nights
It shall be left untouched,
The new queen and her subjects
Their mysteries to perform.