Raiding the Beebox

At the table where we were gathered,
            the beekeper recounted how 
a bear tipped over his bee-boxes 
            and raided them night after night 
after night—reaching in and tearing out 
            the trays, having smelled the honey 
and the hive on a warm downwind. 
            Any of us, I'm sure, would leave 
our own forest cover, climb up the gully 
            and cross the road into alien country, 
intent on the scent of what lures. In one of 
            the old Looney Tunes cartoons 
we watched as kids on Saturday mornings, 
            one taste of sticky amber is enough
to drive evenTaz crazy—he forces one 
            paw in the opening, then the other,
despite stings and throbbing limbs.
            Don't you know what you rouse 
out of dormancy into seething becomes 
            the specter that can haunt you?
You want to tame it, possess it; marry
           whatever desire has stunned you
with awe or certainty or disbelief.