Paean
after H.D.’s “Heat”
Apple
blossoms
curl their
delicate
ends: make
fists in air. April, the minor
god, sets his wet throat on the orchard—
hurls his
ice and wind. After days above, the yellow-
jacket must return to its clay den. The bright
kernel of sun still
lifts along its old path,
muted—made a soft and perfect circle by the clouds’ white veil. O
nectar-light,
O
plenum, O
quiescent star—
rend the pale
sky by its seams.
Turn the cold
under, turn it other. Pour yourself, again, into the
vellum-colored earth, make it
wet with light. Let the
xylem drink of
you; let each blossom be its own
zygotic sun.
Plenum
Just down the beach, a hive of honeybees is teeming—its mouth the open door to a yellow-hot
kiln. The world, it seems, is overfull. Wet ocean air
leaves beads on sawgrass clusters,
marks the inland sand like shadow. Somewhere out of sight, the moon is lurking dark and
new. The clouds above blush sun-hungry purple. The low
ocean extends its long tongue—
pale rose
quartz—
rakes and rakes its
soft white
teeth
upon the sand.
Violet light washes down in eddies;
washes the world gray. But the honeybees—
Xanthos-like, manes
yolk-bright—
zip and
alight on the
bluestar’s
collar;
draw out its color. It seems
every given thing is nuzzling the next, is
full to brimming, is a perfect form unblinking. Past the hive, a corpse-tree points
godward, its Socratic arm
heavy at the joint. I’m pointing, too. O honeybees,
I have lost all sense for walls. One thing is full of the other. I’m pointing, too.
Daniel Schonning’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Poetry Magazine, Crazyhorse, The Pinch, Guesthouse, and elsewhere. His poem 'Aleph with all, all with Aleph' was selected by judge Cyrus Cassells as winner of the 2020 Lynda Hull Memorial Prize. He studies and teaches in Colorado, where he is currently working on a book of abecedarians.