Honey
  
 Now comes the fall of glaciers, all fall down.
 Now comes the rise of blue, blue of the deepening sea.
 How do we rise to our task, stand common ground,
 in and out of nature, poison and key?
  
 Pavements are grey beneath us. Graffiti decks the walls.
 Fluorescents flare and sizzle, curdling night and day.
 Starlight seems to gutter, but still the moon calls,
 washing paths along the river silver-grey.
  
 The bees are falling silent. Iron gates gape wide.
 We have to seek within, clutching tattered maps.
 Can we summon our making powers deep inside?
 Invite new-made honey to fill burnt-out gaps,
  
 and return what we have eaten: instead consume
 flames of inspiration in a cleaner room?
 
Leslie Schultz