Her head was golden as honey
in the morning light, soft-haired
with a halo shimmering
as if the dawn of a better day.
Her breath reminded me of wings
spreading to be dried for flight,
and her heartbeats in my palm
felt like flowers opening.
There is so much to love in life,
so many secrets I have learned
by listening to dew drops
clutching fresh green stems,
and holding rays of sunlight
then turning them into words.
Her eyelids fluttered to frame dreams,
made not of memories but of wishes.
What do you wish for, my honeybee?
What do you summon to the skep?
Tiny candle in your cradle,
your face translucent as beeswax,
I held you as the light passed through
to see what the world could make
of shadows as bright as summer.
You learned your name then flew away.
Bruce Meyer is author or editor of 64 books of poetry, short fiction, flash fiction, and non-fiction. He has had three national bestsellers in Canada, and was 2019 winner of the Anton Chekhov Prize for Fiction (UK) and the Freefall Prize for Poetry. He has recently been a finalist in the Bath Short Story Prize, the National Poetry Competition (UK), the Tom Gallon Trust Fiction Prize, the Carter V. Cooper Prize, and the Thomas Morton Prize for Fiction. He lives in Barrie, Ontario, and teaches at Georgian College and Victoria College at the University of Toronto.