Who ordained
everything beautiful be gold
or gilt to the touch;

or sharp
the shadow of a spear,
broad the skirt of a shield?

In youth
the muscles’ hard ripples
copper over the bones.

Do not mistake
the bees that come
and go

in weak sunlight—
each one a small loyalty
to what lies in the hive.


In response to Via Negativa: Youth revisited.

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